Aphrael's Birthday Party
by Dagon ng Likha
Summary: HOLY MOTHER OF APHRAEL, IT'S COMPLETE! Exactly what the title says, folks. Expect kooky mortals, kookier gods, and good clean fun...Well, maybe not the last. Now with crack by the 300s. Seeryoosly.
1. The Chairs of the Gods

Disclaimer: I don't own them. There's a reason this is called a 'fanfic', I suppose.

**Aphrael's Birthday Party**

Chapter One: You're Invited

Eriond looked at 'his chair' and beamed. Boy oh boy, it sure was pretty! Scribbled all over it was a picture he'd given to Aunt Pol once, of him and Horse and the meadow and the rabbits and the trees and the birds...it looked _loads_ better than Mana's weight-lifting bench-thingy. But he had to admit, Issa's La-Z boy was fun too.

They were in the Place-that-Wasn't-a-Place-But-Was-In-Fact-All-Places, which everyone else seemed to call Omniwhere; Eriond privately thought his name for it was funner. The Dragon God was getting bored in Mallorea—he had tried raising new dragons, but their eyes just weren't googly enough—when Big Brother Belar popped by and suggested he visit 'The Office'. Eriond jumped at the chance, because Zakath and Cyradis were getting too mushy again.

Belar sighed. Was he like this during his first eon? No wonder Chaldan and Nedra were always attempting to strangle him. "Yes, Eriond," the Bear God said for what must have been the third time, "This is your chair and desk."

Of course it was Eriond's. Who _else_ would want kindergarten-sized furniture? A pity that the gods only ordered from the 'Earth' catalogue.

"Oooh! Letters!" his divine baby brother's attention was quickly diverted. He was now reaching for the stack of envelopes beside the box of crayons. Thinking he might die (albeit temporarily) of extreme exasperation, Belar took the moment to escape to his own chair—an airplane seat complete with in-flight action movies and a call button for buxom stewardesses.

Damn. That meant it was _his_ turn to watch Eriond. Nedra folded up his daily paper and watched as the youngest god excitedly perused his mail. Most were simply of the 'Congratulations, You're A God Now' vein, including one eloquently written by his business associate Aslan.

However, there were a few exemptions. There was an amorous note from someone named Mary who claimed to be his one true love and/or the Dragon God's daughter, which was ridiculous to Nedra because of Eriond's rather...innocent (dense) perception, and the laws of genetics which would be invariably tweaked around. Furthermore, it wasn't very admirable to start aping the Olympus crowd; a pamphlet by the Valar Formerly Known as Melkor Presently Known as Morgoth, exhorting Eriond to join the Evil Guys Gets Some Alliance!; and a Howler from 'Turak4ever' threatening the Dragon Divinity to 'uphold the standard of evilry'. In postscript, she mentioned she was an avid fan of _EGGSA_!

Nedra was about to answer his crossword, satisfied that his brother's mail didn't contain anything that might cause small tidal upheavals (A week before Erion had the misfortune to receive Belar's _Playdryad_, and had to be rocked to sleep by Aldur). But there was still one letter, covered in...white feathers. Big, fluffy white dove feathers, to be exact, covered in purple glitter. Nedra realized, with a start, that all eight of them received the same letters.

Seven eyes met across the Office, each showing varying degrees of alarm, wry amusement and (in Issa's case) bleary-eyed incomprehension. All, even Chaldan, Could sense the chaos that the feather-clad missive was about to unleash—with the exception, of course, of the new god of the Angaraks.

All watched with bated breath as Eriond happily opened the letter.

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Elsewhere... 

_To the Sorcerer Belgarion, King of Riva, Lord of the Western Sea, Overlord of the West, Godslayer, erstwhile Child of Light, from Zakath, Emperor of Boundless Mallorea, Hail:_

_Garion,_

_Eriond's behaving rather odd lately; more so than the usual Grolim-apoplexy causing activities, at any rate. Our mutual friend is up in the clouds (quite literally), crowing about some birthday party. From what I can understand from his semi-coherent babble, it's the first immortal event that he's been invited to. And since you've done some impressive work as well, you are invited to the bash too. Apparently your invitation was lost in the mail. _

_How _do_ gods get their mail? I wonder._

_Within a week from now, you're supposed to meet up with the other gods in the vale. Eriond says that you can bring your grandfather and Lady Polgara, but it isn't advisable for you to bring Ce'Nedra. Only a few mortals, I think. _

_I have to go. I'm hearing screams of pure terror again, which means that another one of Eriond's rabbit-dragon crossbreeding experiments got loose. Till we meet again, Garion. _

_Zakath_

_P.S.: Congratulations on your new daughter, by the way. What is it, the sixth this time?_


	2. Behold, the God of the Internet

Author's Note: Well, here's the second chapter. The email ad's screwy, and so are the 'links'. I apologize for that. A little different feel from the first, but trust me, Deiwos is just an older version of Eriond. Responses to those nice people who reviewed at the end.

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Aphrael's Birthday Party**

Chapter Two: The God of the Internet

Deiwos frowned.

Up in His Office in Omniwhere, the creator god was busy planning a baby shower. Yes, you heard right. He would do anything for his baby sister—although he would do almost anything to keep her from finding out. It seemed like a moot point, though. No doubt Dweia would've made her husband disclose her brother's confession by now...

Scheming imp. She was always so manipulative, even when they were children! Then again, she _was_ the youngest. Between her and himself, no wonder Daeva felt more then a little resentful. The middle children always got the worst deal—he made sure of that, in his universe anyway. Oh what fun to be a creator god!

_Click. Click._

There, he just rescheduled the incoming storm in Arum. This new invention of his—only three eons since he built it—simplified matters enormously. He called it the 'Center Over Myriad Processes Utilizing Things Everyone (intelligent) Respects'. Alas, when he introduced it to the other gods, they shortened it to 'computer' and 'that fancy box'.

'No one appreciates true genius,' he sniffed.

At least his newest idea was being granted a smidgen of respect. Granted, it had taken everyone a while to get used to the concept. After a century, though, they accepted it; everyone now had internet connections. Unfortunately, this meant that the dratted '_EGGSA!'_ could go online as well. They did truly evil stuff—they sent spam email, viruses, and created horrible live journals.

And that's not even mentioning the bad fanfiction.

Deiwos leaned back from the monitor and pondered what to do next. Normally, he would have spun around his swivel chair until he got divinely dizzy. That was always when his best ideas happened to him. However, a chance knock on the door prevented this method from happening. The carpet gave a vast sigh of relief.

"Althalus," he said, without turning around.

His brother-in-law walked in the office. Deiwos swiveled his chair around and looked at him. Dweia was at a waspy stage in her pregnancy, and it showed in Althalus's face. The poor man looked paler than usual. The god felt a slight pity for the mortal that his sister goddess had shanghaied.

Hmm. Was that term geo-physically correct? Perhaps he should invent a Shanghai. Next to Magwhos, maybe?

"You _HAVE_ to help me," Althalus groaned, settling into one of the spare chairs lying around. "Emmy's driving me insane!"

_Took her this long?_ "How so?" the god Khwerdos inquired. He was mildly amused that her pregnancy had managed to ruffle the thief's normally calm demeanor.

"It's 'Althalus, I want donuts,'—what _are_ donuts?—and 'Althalus, fetch me a unicorn'. Never mind that she can do it—better—herself! Then she asks me the loaded question—'Do I still look pretty to you?' She's acting so irrational!" he fumed. "Curse the god who invented the eight-month mood swings!"

Deiwos didn't comment. He was mentally extinguishing the curse.

"Now, now," he said soothingly to his sister's husband, "Surely it can't be that bad. All she probably needs is a distraction from her everyday life. "

"_What _distraction? She can't go bothering—_mothering_," he hastily changed his words, throwing suspicious glances around as if he suspected a cat with a bulging belly to be glaring at him, claws extended, "Leitha and the others, because they're more than a bit busy and it takes too much of her energy to go down into the world. You've refused to come to the House, several times, insisting you have a 'special project' that you're working on." Althalus heaved a sigh.

Both men (males?) stared glumly down at the pink—_mauve_, Deiwos insisted—carpeting. Only a miracle, and not one of Deiwos's many instant-mami-noodle types, could sufficiently divert the fair goddess.

_Beep. Beep. You have one (1) message._

And typically in a story, the miracle arrived.

_**Date:** silly people. Gods don't need dates_

_**From:** imsocute at deiwosrules dot com_

_**Subject:** Aphrael sent you a card!_

_Viewing your BhelliomCard is a snap!_

_Just choose from the following options:_

_Click on the following link:_

_**Bhelliomworlds dot styricgreetings dot com slash bdaycard**_

_or_

_Copy and paste the above link into your web browser's address window._

_or_

_Enter this BCard number, 716177656378, on our BCard Pick Up page at_

_**Bhelliomworlds dot styricgreetings dot com slash pickitupidiot dot html**_

_We hope you enjoy your BCard. If you have any comments or questions, please visit_

_**Bhelliomworlds dot styricgreetings dot com**_

_Thanks for using Bhelliom! Greetings with styricgreetings dot com_

Deiwos clicked on the link. Instantly an animated picture of a white dove, a white deer, a white lion, a white ferret, and a white orangutan popped up. The albino animals waved cheekily at him then proceeded to 'play' with each other. Thank goodness the blood was white too.

_Hi, Deiwos _

_You're invited to my birthday party! That's right, I beat Dweia's baby shower! Ha, ha, ha! Please come! Otherwise, I'LL TEAR OUT YOUR GUTS like the cute little girl I am (D) It's been a long time since we gods hung out together. The last time was Belar's Chopin recital, and you KNOW how painful that was. 'Sides, don't you want to meet the gods and the other special mortals? And I want to see Dweia, too._

_  
Hugs and kisses,  
Aphrael_

Deiwos looked at Althalus. Althalus looked at Deiwos.

"Belar's Chopin recital?" Althalus mildly asked, somewhat calmer now that the plothole asserted itself. Deiwos shuddered in memory.

tbc...

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**_**Replies:**

Lady Bevier:_Thanks! Chaos gives a very distinctive odor, wouldn't you say? Ha ha. I did promise some Bevier sightings, but the Arcian probably won't make an appearance for a few chapters... still, he's coming!_

G.I.R13:_I'm honored that you laughed aloud. The only thing I can muster is a low snigger._

Chibi yin_Actually, Eriond doesn't have Garion's mail. Aphrael's invitation isn't written down there. I just used the Zakath (Champion of Amusing Letter Writing) to describe Eriond's reaction._

Ranuial:_Yay, someone got the references. D Did you notice the 'Mary Something' as well? Damn the Sues, but they're so fun to tease. I'm immensely flattered that I captured Big Dave's off-the-wall-humor._


	3. A Meeting of EGGSA!

AN: I finally updated! Thanks guys! I love all of you who reviewed! The ones who didn't, not so much (just kidding). Your input means a lot to me, so by all means click that button. If you like this story, please take the time to read my other story, a musical on the Belgarion. And now, before your eyes glaze over fully, I present to you...

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Aphrael's Birthday Party**

Chapter Three: A Meeting of EGGSA!

Zandramas scowled.

The EGGSA! Headquarters was once again crowded. This was something ironic for a structure isolated in the middle of Omniwhere (or, as regarded by the inhabitants, the Place-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-of-the-Place-which-is-not-a-Place-but-is-in-fact-Every-Place or Somewhere-in-the-middle-of-Nowhere-in-Omniwhere).

This was not because of the fact that the members of the Evil Gods Get Some Alliance were numerous (though indeed there was a surplus of associates); rather there were other less known _EGGSA!s _as well. There were the Evil Goons, Evil Gits, and even Evil Gorillas (oddly enough, all from a future dimension). Each of the factions, even Evil Gore-tex, was accorded spacious, luxurious rooms and floors.

So why did they stash Evil Girls in the broom closet? Ooh, there was going to be _pain_.

She climbed the spiral staircase to reach the six hundred-sixty-sixth floor since the elevator was preternaturally broken (climbing stairs, the architects decided, would be EVIL), bitterly complaining all the while about the gods' need for that mystical number.

Finally, she reached that thrice-blasted floor, and wrenched open their feeling-cool, rusted iron door. Immediately she wished she had not.

Disgusting! These were eons-old beings, blubbering like babies! It was really quite pathetic.

She took some pictures.

Zandramas noted that Azash, Cyrga, Daeva, and (to her utter shame) her predecessor Torak, were the ones who were doing the most sniffling and bawling. Some of the other 'gods'—they didn't strike her as divine at that moment—didn't seem that much better off. She walked over to one bored divinity playing with his stiff-forked tail.

Ooh; he must be one of the Egyptian deities; animal heads weren't really all the rage, or so she heard Torak confide in her. And Torak, 'Fashion Savant' of the divine, did nothing else but rage. (Ooh. Pun)

"What happened?" she asked the typhon-headed dude. He smirked. "Why helllooo...and you are...?"

She kicked his groin, and cocked one slender eyebrow as he doubled over in agony. Interesting; she thought that gods were impervious to pain. It seemed that you learned something new everyday.

"Zandramas," she told him sweetly, "it means 'absolute chaos' in Ulgo."

"His name is Set," sneered a new voice. Zandramas looked over and saw...gorgeousness. Come to think of it, he even rivaled Torak— both were the vain fallen-from-grace type.

"What happened here, Morgoth?" she jerked her finger at the scene before her.

The President of _EGGSA,_ Evil Gods Division, wrinkled his nose in distaste. "One of your universe's goddesses is having a party, it seems, and they weren't invited."

That was _it?_ Good grief! She worshipped that bawling mess over there? Oh, hell.

"I know," Hel nodded, a double member of Evil Gods and Evil Girls. She rolled her right eye—the left one having long since been gone. "You won't believe what stupidity goes on here."

Hel had arrived in the 666th floor along with Malificent. Zandramas curled her lips in disgust. She could turn into a better dragon than that sleep-inducing floozy!

The Wicked Fairy approached the sobbing gods, and asked them what the problem was. All as one, the gods leaped on her and started yelling. Zandramas noted with satisfaction that Torak regained his senses, and was now staring at the others with disdain. There was nothing like abysmal fashion sense to bring the Dragon God to clarity.

And then, something terrible happened.

"Why don't you do what I did?" Malificent suggested brightly.

Zandramas and Morgoth exchanged glances with each other. Then, they settled in to watch the show.

Tbc...

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Next Chapter:**

The party starts! Very Important Personalities meet! And a special guest appearance...

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Asides:**

**Morgoth** is an evil god, a fallen Valar in the Lord of the Rings. You know, Lucifer's pride shtick—one of the brightest, lalala, until he got jealous of humans (in this case, the Eldar. I'm not sure) and waged war against his God (Eru Illuvatar). Also, he's the master of Sauron. _Must-read fic: _The Game Gods Play

**Set's **the bro of Osiris and Isis, symbolizing evil and destruction, darkness, drought, etc. A typhon is a beast with a thick, curved snout, straight, square ears, and a stiff-forked tail.

**Hel** is the Norse goddess of the underworld. The daughter of Loki, she's half perfect woman and half decaying mess. I'm not really sure if she's evil, but I'm using K.A. Applegate's portrayal of her in the series Everworld.

**Maleficent**: Come on. I doubt that anyone here missed Disney's 'Sleeping Beauty'.

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Replies:

Lady Bevier: Oh, do call your brother Althalus. That will make for some interesting conversation. And as for the 'be happy'...will do. As long as there is Queer Eye for the Straight Guy in the world, I'm happy. :D

Afrieal: You sprayed the keyboard with Dr. Pepper! Wowwww...I didn't think I had that in me. Happiness! I posted the first chapter in the Mallorean Tavern, and since the format was all wrong all I got were negative comments. This review made my day.

Ariandir: Heh, I love merging all the worlds together. My favorite's the Garion series, but I have a soft spot for the Sparhawk and Althalus stories as well (cough BEVIERBERITSARABIANTALEN cough ALBRONELIARGHERcough). I'm planning to have all three worlds interact, and maybe a slight cameo of _The Elder Gods_.

Ynari: Being high is fun...unless it's with drugs. Seriously, stick to the sugar. XD And no, I don't want to kill Althalus. He's way too cool to be killed.

Alex: True, that _would_ be funny, but I'd imagine Ce'Nedra to be too prissy to do that. Her cousin, on the other hand...

Oliversgurl: Don't worry. My mom looks funny at me too.


	4. Yon Pearly Gates

Author's Note: I don't own nada. I merely frolic in these creations of David Eddings, insulting both mortals and gods alike!

Well, here's the party (finally). I have no more exams! Rejoice! As a result, the chapter's kind of loooong...And here's a bit of Bevier too. Did any of you think I put our favorite Arcian in the summary just so that people would read my story? We-ell...he will play a larger part, but not for another chapter or so. For the curious (or bored), I have this entire story planned out, a first for me. It's just a matter of me overcoming my laziness.

Happy Holidays!

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Aphrael's Birthday Party****  
Yon Pearly Gates**

Danae, princess of Elenia, awoke on her eight birthday with a sunny smile. Mmmrrrl, one of the offspring of the now-ancient Mmrr, mewed a protest as Danae slipped out of the bed. The little girl purred her apology.

"Danae, please don't speak in cat again. Someone might hear you."

"You forget who I am, Father," she said without turning around. And then she frowned. "Should I wear my white velvet or the pink brocade?"

Sparhawk joined her in front of the armoire. He shook his head. "Your white dress is more appropriate for a wedding--"

Danae pursed her lips thoughtfully.

"NO, Aphrael. You're _eight_, not eighteen. Besides, Talen is in no way ready for you. Have you seen your mother?"

"She's greeting Sephrenia and the others. They've just arrived." She paused. "Sarabian was nagged into bringing Elysoun. She must have wanted to see Berit."

"Sephrenia's coming? She's _here_?" Without waiting for an answer, the Prince Consort left the room. Danae snuck another glance at her pretty white frock and sighed. A sudden thought occurred to her, and she turned to face her cat.

"Should I have told him about my party?" she asked.

A careless meow was the only answer.

"Glad are we to receive such august guests in our humble abode," Ehlana declared as Sparhawk entered the throne room, "Now our life has seen its crown."

Sarabian looked well, Sparhawk decided. The emperor's marriages obviously suited him. Sparhawk noted that the Empress Elysoun had forgone wearing the tradition Valesian costume in favor of a modest --though still low-cut--Elene gown. Vanion and Sephrenia must have convinced her of the western conservativism, thank God. He cringed at the thought of Elysoun, bare-chested, wandering the streets of Cimmura.

"Sarabian!" he went forward and gave the other man a rough hug, interrupting Ehlana's oration. "It's good to see you." He then raised an eyebrow at the pregnant Elysoun and jestingly said, "Is that one yours?"

"Berit asked that, too," Sarabian said, laughing.

"Sparhawk!" Ehlana stamped her feet. "You've ruined my speech. This was an important first meeting of eastern rulers on western land and you destroy it with a bawdy comment!"

"It's alright, my Queen," Vanion told her. "We can get a scribe to decorate it all later." He gave a look of reprimand to Sparhawk. "Is that any way you greet your former preceptor?"

Formality gone, Ehlana joined Sparhawk in greeting their visitors. Vanion and Sephrenia were glowing with their two years of marriage and their youthful appearances--this was ironic, since the two were the eldest present. Mirtai and Kring were no worse off, though they considered themselves only half-married; Peloi custom dictated that they find husbands for Kring's sisters, and suitors had dwindled noticeably. Oscagne couldn't come, but sent his brother Itagne in his place. Atanas Mirtai, Liatris, and Maris were an awesome sight.

"Tynian!" Ulath clapped a hand on the Deiran's shoulder. "Bhlokw sends his greetings."

"How is your novitiate going, Talen?" Bevier asked the young page.

"Melidere!" trilled Empress Tegan. "How wonderful it is to see you again!"

It was chaotic in the throne room. Sparhawk watched as his friends united, feeling happy and a bit nostalgic. Suddenly, it hit him. They could not all have gathered here at the same time.

_"What is she up to?"_ he muttered.

_I heard that, Father. _Flute appeared alongside Sephrenia, just in time to greet the entering Danae. As during every time the two little girls met, Sparhawk was torn between horror and amusement. Flute seemed younger now, and Danae more Elene. He inclined his head to whisper his observation to Vanion. And then he froze.

Or rather, Vanion froze.

Oh no...Not again...He looked around. Yes, he was in No-Time. The coin Stragen was flipping hung in the air. Talen was on the verge of rifling through Sarabian's pockets. Everyone seemed posed in a tableau. Everyone that is, except for Flute and his daughter.

Sparhawk blinked. And then he blinked again.

Danae's gown was no longer a frilly pink concoction, but a dove-white Styric robe. The two little girls faced Sparhawk with such identical smug expressions on their faces that he was certain what was in store for him would be very, very unpleasant. He'd have given anything for his god-like powers to return.

"Isn't this nice, Father?" Danae commented idly. She scrutinized his outfit. "Should he be wearing that doublet? It may not be 'Anakha' enough." Immediately Sparhawk was clad in his Pandion dress armor, complete with broadsword and horse.

Faran snorted. It's a good thing the writer doesn't understand horse, or else his words would have been unprintable.

"No," Flute said after a moment. To Sparhawk's relief, the heavy armor disappeared. "Faran can't come." With an irritated whicker, the horse vanished as well. After a pause, Flute once again pointed at Sparhawk. "This will do."

Danae made a face at Flute. "He's wearing his silly steel dress again."

"Yes, but it's far lighter."

"Aphrael," Sparhawk cut in before the two began to squabble. Both little girls looked at him. "Where exactly are we going?"

The goddess's forms looked at each other, and grinned.

At that moment, Sparhawk would have rather faced Cyrgon again.

At that moment, Cyrgon would have rather faced Anakha again.

Why couldn't the others pick Torak for this mission? He was sure that the ex-Dragon god would have _loved_ the French maid outfit. The god of the Cyrgais was furious with his colleagues. He was the mighty Cyrgon! How dare these inferior godlings place him in such a position...

"Hey sweetcakes," his employer growled, "get off your cute bum and get back to work."

Fuming, Cyrgon tugged on the pantyhose and did as he was told.

* * *

"Garion, dress warmly." 

"Yes, dear."

"Father, tell me all about it when you come back."

"Of course, Geran."

"Do not worry, your Majesty, I'll keep Ce'Nedra from signing too many Tolnedran treaties."

"THANK YOU," murmured Garion.

"KAIL!"

"Just jesting, your Highness."

Garion gave each one of his daughters a final kiss. Beldaran was a lovely woman, he noted. And still unwed. Hmm. He'd have to take care of that when he returned. As if sensing his thoughts, the foremost meddler--_erm_, match-maker--flew in.

"Hello, Aunt Pol, Grandfather," he said with surprise. "I didn't expect you to see me off." The two birds blurred and changed into humans. The beautiful dark-haired woman started warmly greeting her relatives, but the old sorcerer immediately took Garion by the arm and dragged him out of hearing distance.

"Grandfather, what--"

"Hush, boy, and listen." Garion started to protest at that--he was nearing fifty, after all--but thought better of it. Belgarath's eyes were darting left and right, and perspiration dotted his white brows. The hand clutching his arm was clammy, and Garion could feel his grandfather's pulse racing. All in all, the Eternal Man gave the appearance of a street-side lunatic.

"We haven't got much time," Belgarath harshly whispered. "They'll be arriving here any minute. I'm warning you, Garion, to be _Very, Very, Careful_. The gods may act nobly and surpass the perfection of our mortal world, but once they have one of their gatherings..." he shuddered. "Calamities occur. And I mean that quite literally."

Garion studied his cringing grandfather, whose eyes were unfocused and terror-filled. "What happened to you, Grandfather?"

"Nocturne," came the whimpered reply.

Garion opened his mouth, but suddenly several glowing forms appeared on the beach with them. Belgarath paled even further, and his hand threatened to cut off the circulation to Garion's arm.

"Remember what I told you, boy." And the old man scuttled away.

Garion stared at his retreating grandfather. After a long moment, he squared his shoulders and faced his gods.

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Althalus, Dweia and Deiwos arrived at the Party's Venue. Omniwhere, Dweia called it, though Deiwos insisted that it was called The-Place-That-Wasn't-A-Place-But-Was-In-Fact-All-Places. The goddess Aphrael's residence was surrounded by majestic white gates. He noticed that a couple of gods hadn't entered yet. One divinity in particular, a bearded benign personage in a leather jacket, was wearing a highly amused expression.

"'The Rock' is going to flip at this," he chuckled.

"'The Rock'?" asked the man beside him. Althalus started; he _was_ a man, not a god. Though he was giving off power that the thief wasn't sure even Deiwos had, the warrior (he had a giant broadsword. Althalus couldn't fathom carrying such a thing) was most definitely mortal.

"Peter," explained the God with the leather jacket, "he's the guy who greets my kids at the gates. They're almost exactly like these." He nodded at the pearl-studded gates. "Aphrael must have copied them when she visited us five centuries ago."

Garion nodded politely. This God seemed saner than the others, though He talked incessantly of His Son. _Was he like this when he spoke of Geran? Granted, Jesus_ did _save his whole world from sin, but Geran nearly became a god..._

As soon as Garion and the gods of his world arrived in the divine realm, Belar and the others _changed_--all, except Aldur. UL patted him, put on a yamulka, and went off in search for his friend, 'that nudnik Yahweh'. Nedra whipped out what he told Garion was a 'cell phone', and then started arguing with the air. Issa offered him some 'X', while Chaldan slathered on black make-up and brooded to strange, negative-sounding music. Eriond become impossibly giddy, and rushed inside Aphrael's compound.

"We'll go ahead, Garion. Eriond CANNOT be left unattended," Belar apologized. The Bear God dragged Mara from the poolside--Mara was wholly engrossed in the reflection of his bunching muscles--who protested that Belar only wanted to score 'chicks'. The rest of their family soon followed.

And so Garion was left outside, wondering if he should even enter the party. With a quick 'see you later', he bid the God goodbye. And then he noticed three other individuals arriving. One of them gave a very different aura.

"Thank goodness!" Garion said with relief. Bypassing the other two for the moment, he rushed to shake the other person's hand. "I thought I was going to be the only human here. My name is Garion. What is yours, if I may ask?"

"Althalus," replied the man pleasantly, but his two companions paled and shrank back.

"Belgarion?" the pregnant goddess choked out.

"The Godslayer!" gasped their companion. Garion grimaced. Oh boy. Was it going to be like this inside? "It wasn't my idea," he defended himself, "but this forced me to do it." He held out a bright blue stone.

The two gods stared in trepidation. Godslayer _and_ lunatic.

Althalus suddenly grinned, and clapped a hand on Garion's back. "I think we'll get along just fine," he said as they entered the pearly gates.

"Oh?"

"Sure. I had a cat that talked."

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**Ye Old Tiresome Footnotes**

Sparhawk forgot about the 'first child clause' in Valesia. You know, the one about, erm, '**bedroom freedom**' until they have their first child.

Ha, ha, ha. **Nocturne** is quite a lovely piece.

I'm a Roman Catholic. I love my God, but I despise (real) self-righteous fanatics. I personally think that a biker Jesus (there was a poster I once saw that depicted him on a motorcycle), but conservatives would disagree. Whatever.

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**Replies:

Oliversgurl: I updated! Happy now? Grin.

Nae'Blis: Playdryad _will_ return. Trust me on that. I've heard of Wheel of Time--my brother has the entire series--but I haven't read it. Instead I read its copycat--I've all the books of Sword of Truth. And no, I don't think I'd include that series. The subject matter is too adult.

Laurewen Greenleaf: A little Bevier cameo now. He's actually going to play a big part in the next story, but don't worry, he'll pop up in the later chapters as well.

Lady Bevier: What are you doing? UPDATE YOUR STORY NOW! And yes, I love EGGSA! I 'm quite proud of that, actually.

Ersatz: Ooh, yes...Odin. Didja notice Hel? Don't worry, a lot of Earth gods are going to appear (notice: Peter, 'the rock'. Snicker. Jesus Christ Superstar was heavy on my mind. That, and ol' Dwayne.)

**

* * *

Questions:**

Ooooh...What was Cyrgon's mission?

Will there be more Bevier?


	5. The Gift Line, Part One

AN: Hi guys! Sorry this took so long...hectic schedule, as usual. But hey, I'm finally free of high school! Graduation, baybee. Okay...this was supposed to be a really long chapter, but I'm dividing it into two. That way, another chapter would come sooner. :) Please, please review!

And I have a very twisted mind. I apologize ahead for the insanity after this message.

**

* * *

Aphrael's Birthday Party**

The Gift Line, Part 1

"WHAT? I can't go there!" Sparhawk spluttered.

"Silly, isn't he?" Danae asked Flute idly. The other Aphrael nodded. "At least he's not running around in a panic, like the last mortal we invited," the Styric goddess pointed out.

"Well, Hanka _did_ warn his priestess about it, and she told Sephrenia."

"Hanka's such a spoilsport."

"Yeah."

"You know, I'm still here," interjected Sparhawk.

"Relax, Father. No one will harm you. It's _my_ party and _my _house, after all. Besides, it's considered terribly bad form to interfere with the mortal guests—you should've seen what happened to Zeus when he tried to seduce Sephrenia."

"Zeus?"

"Yes. One of the 'All-Father' types. If he said, 'Are you _sure_ you don't want to see my lightning bolt?' to my sister one more time..."

"Flute, we really don't have time for this," Danae cut in. She looked at Sparhawk once more. "Father, you're Anakha. The others will be afraid of what _you_ would do to them, not the other way around."

"But wouldn't your mother notice us gone?" asked Sparhawk. The two little girls gave him withering looks. Suddenly to his right and exact copy of him appeared. Sparhawk was distressed to see his duplicate absentmindedly picking his nose.

"Please don't do that, neighbor," he gave a pained glance at his double, "you're pretending to be me, not Kalten." The pseudo-Sparhawk grinned and blew a raspberry at the frozen blond knight.

Sparhawk had a sudden feeling of **D**read.

"Would you be all right here, Fero?" Flute asked the double. He nodded happily, a thumb lodged in his mouth. Sparhwak's **D**read increased. He once again tried to dissuade the goddess.

"But Father," Danae's lip trembled. "Don't you LOVE me?"

The **D**read was villified. Sparhawk was helpless as the goddess whisked him away to Omniwhere. There was a flash of light, and the sudden emergence of strange music (It was of some people, who were singing about a yellow submarine, whatever that was). Sparhawk experienced his first bout of inter-dimensional travel sickness. Finally, to his great relief, the ride was over.

Danae looked sympathetically at her father as he chucked up the remains of his breakfast. "I'm sorry I forgot to warn you, Father," she apologized. He didn't reply, being far too busy vomiting his meal.

Sparhawk recovered, after a while. He shakily got to his feet and looked around. It was the white paradise that the Styric goddess brought him to before, but there were some drastic differences. For one thing, they appeared to be in a large building, but its construction wasn't remotely castle-like. The white bed seemed familiar, but the objects scattered around the room were alien to him. Sparhawk reached towards the shiny black box with one reflective side.

Danae saw what he was doing and quickly yanked his arm back. "Don't touch that, Father," she warned, "it will suck your soul. It's been known to turn decent people into potatoes."

Sparhawk's eyes widened, and he backed away from the suddenly menacing box. A thought came to him. "Why isn't Flute here?"

"It's not her birthday, is it?"

"But...you're the same person."

"So?" Danae looked at the mirror and decided she was ready. Dragging her bewildered father out the door, she went to greet her guests.

Her animals had done their work. Her courtyard was even more beautiful than usual. The buffet was already set, and the caterers gleaming in their freshly-pressed uniforms. Some carnival rides were erected. Her elephants graciously lent themselves for rides. And best of all, there wasn't a piano in sight—just in case Belar wanted to share his, ahem, 'gifts'. The goddess and Sparhawk positioned themselves in the reception line.

"We're ready," Danae nodded to her white ferret. "Send them in." A couple of macaws nodded, and squawked.

Sparhawk saw the white gates in the distance swing inward. Glowing forms of various shapes and hues entered the grounds; some came in sedately, while others marched in with a bang. One hurricane in particular rushed towards Aphrael and Sparhawk at a rapid pace. Several feet away from them, the hurricane transformed into a tall, man-shaped being wrapped in a grey cloak.

"The All-Father greets the Thief-Goddess of Styricum," one of the two ravens perched on his shoulder cawed.

"Happy Birthday, Kiddo," the other added. Aphrael smiled at Mugin and Hunin.

"Well met, One-eye," she replied. "What did you get me?"

Odin handed her a thin package. Aprael ripped it open. As far as Sparhawk could tell, it was roughly the size and shape of a small placard, and made of a hard transparent material not quite like glass. On the cover was a painting that was glossy and unfamiliar, but somehow...cute.

"RO!" squealed Aphrael, jumping up and down and kissing the armor-clad god. Odin stepped back before she could smack his cheek ('Wise,' thought Sparhawk), and explained that Ragnarok Online was compatible with Deiwos's computer. The ravens said their farewells as Odin beat a hasty retreat.

Next came a handsome, passionate-looking personage with tilted almond eyes. Aphrael let out a girlish giggle when he extravagantly kissed her hand. Sparhawk automatically switched into Protective Parent Mode and employed his patented hawk glare. The Tamul-looking god merely smiled, and withdrew from his strange robes a red and white ball.

"What's that, Futsu?" Aphrael asked. The prettyboy gave another enigmatic smile and pressed a button. A _whoosh_, and then Sparhawk found himself carrying a yellow furred animal. It was oddly adorable, and a trifle unnerving.

"Pikaaaa!" The animal beamed up at them adorably. The goddess and her father exchanged looks, and then shrugged. The little thing scampered out of his arms, and proceeded to shock some demigods. Luckily for those, they were immortal.

"What an exquisite little creature!" breezed in Vana, flowers in her hair and springtime in her step. She hugged Aphrael. "Happy Birthday, little one." Futsu-Nushi-No-Kami, who had been watching his gift with some amusement, quickly turned on the charm.

"Lady, you are the very picture of youth and beauty."

Vana giggled. The lightning god offered his arm and she took it, starting to babble about her husband—much to his dismay. Aphrael yelled at them as they strolled away. "What about my present?"

Vana looked over her shoulder. "Oh, yes. I almost forgot." She waved her hand vaguely as the two gods left. Sparhawk's mouth gaped open. It was an elephant—only ten times larger, and with far more tusks.

"An Oliphaunt!" squealed Aphrael. Sparhawk groaned inwardly. This was much larger than a whale.

"Chu," the little yellow monster agreed.

tbc...

**

* * *

Asides**

**Odin, **a.k.a. father of the gods in Norse mythology. He lost his eye in exchange for wisdom—hence, the two ravens to prepare his people for Ragnarok. Ragnarok is the end of the world, where even the gods might perish in an epic battle. And Ragnarok Online, well...I've never played. But I thought it would be funny.

**Futsu-Nushi-No-Kami**, as plagiarized from Encyclopedia Mythica is the "Japanese god of fire and lightning. Later he became a god of war and general of Amaterasu." The idea of Pokemon grew too hard for me to resist.

**Vana **is one of the Valie from the LOTR land Arda. She's the wife of Orome the Hunter. Typical goddess-of-springtime-and-loves-animals goddess.

* * *

Replies 

Oliversgurl: raises eyebrow A WHIP? Excuse me? Sorry hon, I'm not into that whole ess-enn-emm thing. Must be the pain. Hmm…

Nordik: Thank you. I hope you enjoyed the Nordic part. (Gaaah! I'm corny!)

Ranuial: I must confess something. I planned a Bevier-centric story, but it's third in this series. So...that might take a while. Cringe

Lady Cassandra: Thanks for the 'good punchline!' bit. That's probably why David Eddings is one of my favorite fantasy writers—the snarkiness. laughter...

REEEEEEEVIEEEEEW...


	6. The Gift Line, Part Two

Just a thought—in here, a year or two has passed after the Tamuli. This is right after 'The ­Redemption of Althalus". It's also around 16-18 years after the Mallorean. So, Sparhawk and Garion are roughly the same age.

**

* * *

Aphrael's Birthday Party**

The Gift Line, Part Two

Berit frowned. Something was wrong.

Sure, it seemed on the surface that everything was going fine, but...well, that _was_ the surface.

Bevier, the handsome Cyrinic knight, came up to him. Both men were oblivious to or ignoring the many members of the opposite sex eyeing them. The Arcian's dark brows furrowed when he asked the younger man a question. "What troubles you, Berit? You look deep in thought."

The Pandion knight looked around, and beckoned Bevier closer. "Look at the faces of Vanion and Sephrenia," he told his friend, "they look like they've been forced to eat five helpings of Kalten's cooking. And they're staring at Flute and Danae. Don't you think those two little girls look alike?"

Bevier cast them a glance, and then turned back his gaze to Berit and raised his eyebrow. This action of his caused a couple of court ladies to faint, unnoticed. "Oh, yes. Khalad told me about your suspicions. Maybe you've been overtaxing yourself."

"No, I'm not! Something strange is going on. Flute and Danae even have the same expression on; it's as if they're miles away. Sparhawk, if you talk to him, sounds like a different person entirely." Berit ran his fingers through his hair. It did not go unnoticed by the female sex.

"That's nonsense," Bevier said firmly. The companions of the fainted ladies swooned at the sound of his voice.

"Actually, Berit might have a point," Talen sneaked up on them. "I picked Sparhawk's pocket, and when he noticed he just offered me more sweets."

The young men considered the situation. They went into the privacy of the gardens to discuss their further actions. However, none of the young men had any former romantic endeavors (of their own volition, anyway), and so did not realize that gardens were actually the LEAST private venues, filled with calf-eyed couples mooning over each other.

Anyway.

The Queen of Elenia, spying on some of the aforementioned couples that she matchmade herself, overheard their heated conversation. She rolled her eyes as she drew near. Time to set things straight, once and for all.

"Of course he isn't Sparhawk." All three knights (or, soon-to-be-knight) jumped guiltily.

"Your Majesty!" Berit gasped. "Forgive our speculation."

"Oh, pish." She waved her hand. "It's really very simple. My daughter and Sparhwak went to her special place to celebrate her birthday with other gods, and left inadequate copies of themselves in their places."

She put one elegant hand to the side of her face. "I wasn't invited because I'm not supposed to be aware that my daughter is the Styric goddess Aphrael."

The three young men gaped.

_The Incarnation of a Styric goddess in an Elene mother! No! God, this is heresy...oh, wait. This is Aphrael we're talking about. She probably has my God in the palm of her hand._

_Hah! I KNEW it! I was right! I told you so, Khalad! Boo ya..._

Talen's thoughts weren't coherent. Once he realized that the goddess and the little girl who swore to marry him were one and the same, lucidity gave way to screaming—both mentally and physically.

A crash interrupted their religious pondering, glee, horror, and (in Ehlana's case) utter calm. The four turned around to see Vanion and Sephrenia, in suspiciously rumpled clothes. They were staring at Ehlana with expressions of awed respect.

"You knew?" choked out Vanion.

"Leigh," was all the Queen said. Sephrenia nodded, instantly comprehending.

"Um, excuse me," a new voice spoke. The group saw an unspeakably handsome (but somewhat dim-looking) glowing form. It was Setras, the cousin of Aphrael. "I'm sorry to be late. Can you possibly show me the way to my dear cousin's birthday party?"

The knights, Sephrenia, and Ehlana looked at each other.

* * *

"Father, calm down," Polgara murmured. 

Geran watched Belgarath in fascination. The old man was _scared_. Not even in his father's stories was the Eternal Man ever frightened. Flirty, maybe. Irritated, definitely. Total terror didn't really suit Belgarath.

Geran, his Aunt Pol, and his grandfather were alone in the library (for the sake of convenience—and health—everyone decided to forgo the many 'greats' tacked on). His mother and his many sisters were having chocolate in their sitting rooms—the sisters past puberty anyway. Geran shuddered; the effect of chocolate on adolescent half-dryads was scary. Poledra and the twins retired; Durnik was off somewhere fishing.

The old man stopped pacing on the floor and grabbed Geran. Belgarath's eyes were wild. "Your father is walking into grave danger! We have to save him from the nefarious evil that is Chopin!"

"Um, Grandfather," Geran choked out. The old man had a strong grip on his neck.

"You are too young, boy, to rule as Overlord of the West," continued Belgarath, "and you'll have to marry off your sisters. Who in their right mind would wed Beldaran?"

Wolf raised his head from the rug and noted that Geran was turning an interesting shade of blue. He watched as Polgara thwacked her father to release the boy from his chokehold. As the Rivan prince gasped for breath, his ultimate grandfather started chanting. Polgara turned to him, alarmed, but it was too late. His will made all three humans vanish in a twink of an eye.

Wolf went back to sleep. Stupid humans.

* * *

Eliar yawned. 

Andine slapped him lightly. "Stop! This is important to Gher!" They were back in Chief Albron's hall for a reunion, trying to pay attention to the boy who was rambling on about his latest project.

"So, if I suck the energy from the air around us and change it to this" point, "and make it bend so it'll be sorta loopy, we can tenlike it's Emmy's House all over again, and then we can go to anywhere or anywhen we want too!" Gher beamed, motioning at his complicated diagrams. Only Bheid seemed to _sorta_ get it.

"How do we use the sucked air, then?" Khalor asked his adopted son.

"Oh, that's easy! You just press this button, like this, and...oops."

Where there was once a sandy-haired boy there was now empty air. Eliar groaned.

"Emmy's going to kill us!"

* * *

Sparhawk was very, very bored. 

Sparhawk watched the pile of presents (the inanimate ones, anyway) grow. There were wonders which were always dreamed about, the stuff of legends—golden fleece, a couple of Rings, and a holy grail or two. Some of the more simple things puzzled him, though. A war goddess called Athena gave Aphrael a 'DVD' of 'Troy'; its shape was similar to what the one-eyed god gave her. A god that reminded Sparhawk of one of Ehlana's annoying courtiers presented the thief goddess a pillow (Aphrael, sharing a secret grin with Veltan, kindly thanked him for the gift). His sister gave the Thief Goddess a pink dolphin, to Sparhawk's dismay. A nebulous presence, with colors both Light and Dark, introduced itself as The Force. It warned Aphrael of a great evil, then greeted her a warm happy birthday, and she received a lightsaber. After half an hour, Sparhawk found himself playing with the thing while his daughter greeted the other guests. The sword really was quite pretty.

"Happy Birthday, Aphrael!" a group of beings arrived. The speaker was a goddess, one of the 'Mother Goddess' types—Sparhawk's paltry knowledge of mythology was increasing, thanks largely to thirty minutes of mind-numbing ennui. She was also very pregnant. Sparhawk raised an eyebrow. That was new.

Aphrael brightened. She was connected to these gods in a way that she wasn't with the Valar, the Greek Pantheon, or Aslan. For the first time since arriving, she introduced her mortal father to a divinity.

"Dweia, Deiwos," she said, beaming, "meet my father, the Prince Consort of Elenia, the Preceptor of the Pandion Order, Sir Sparhawk. Also known as Anakha."

Theatrical pause.

Everyone around the group gasped. Aphrodite, Erzulie, and Ashtar all fainted, while Anansi snickered. Several Tamul gods fled in panic. Only the group around Aphrael remained calm.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir Sparhawk," Dweia said. Deiwos took his hand and shook it. The other being in their company merely arched his brow at the reactions of the gods around them.

"The pleasure is mine, my lady." Sparhawk performed a florid bow to Dweia that would have had Ehlana beaming. "Although I must confess; I'm curious why you're taking my name so nonchalantly."

Deiwos grinned. "This here is my sister's wife," he motioned to the man beside him, "the Master Thief, Althalus. He's a couple of eons old, and mortal."

The two humans looked at each other.

"I'm glad I don't have your reputation, friend," Althalus shook Sparhawk's hand. "It was hard enough pulling off that Book heist without other gods fearing me." He paused. "Then again, there are only three gods in my world."

"I take it you killed the other one?"

"Is _that_ what you did? Interesting. No, I let Emmy take care of it—it was a family spat, after all."

"Emmy?"

"Dweia. Long story."

"Oh." Sparhawk's eyes flickered to the goddess's bulging stomach. "A goddess and a mortal, neighbor? Must be where Aphrael is getting her idea..."

"Father!" Aphrael interrupted. To cover up the charged silence, she smiled sweetly at Deiwos. "What's my present?"

In response, he pulled out from the air a brightly wrapped box. The little goddess pulled greedily at it and within seconds had in her palm the gift. It was a shiny white rectangular object. She squealed in delight, and kissed the creator god enthusiastically.

"It's a prototype," he told her. "The patented iGod won't come out for another decade. He quickly escaped her affectionate grasp. Dweia handed Aphrael a slip of paper. Aphrael read it. "What's an LJ?"

"It's a LeighJournal," she explained. "An extremely exclusive group for our daily matchmaking lives." The two females laughed evilly and hugged each other.

Meanwhile, Sparhawk and Althalus were still conversing. "I'm glad you're here. I thought I was going to be the only mortal in attendance."

"No, that's not true," Althalus objected. "There was a king I was talking to an hour ago. Had just as earthshaking a fame as yours. But he had to go find his Master and his Master's brothers—oh, wait. There he is now."

The king Althalus was talking about had a slightly harassed look on his face. He was accompanied by seven gods: one smoking hashish, one yelling 'Mazel Tov!", one ogling the goddesses, one ogling his own biceps, one dressed in a business suit, another clad in leather, and one utterly serene. They all appeared to be searching for someone.

"Hi!"

Sparhawk and Althalus blinked and turned around. There in front of them was a blond god. Though he appeared to be middle-aged, there was something innocently boyish about him. Maybe it was guilelessness of his eyes. Or the angelic aura surrounding him.

Or the fact he was clutching an oversized lollipop in his hand.

"There you are!" The king went over to them. "Eriond, what did I tell you about..." he caught himself, realizing that they were not alone. He bowed deeply to the two men, and straightened. "My apologies, divinities, the Dragon God isn't normally like this...oh. Greetings again, Althalus."

"Don't worry about it." The thief bent closer to whisper. "I feel the same way. You know how hard it is dealing with a pregnant goddess?"

"She might hear you, Althalus," Sparhawk warned. Althalus smiled slyly.

"Garion, this is Sparhawk. Sparhawk, Garion. King of Riva, Prince Consort of Elenia. Pandion Preceptor, Sorcerer. Child of Light, meet the Man with No Destiny."

It should be noted that all three men had very much the same formidable quality. And the author wasn't the only one to notice.

"Eek!" shrieked Parvati, attracting everyone's notice. "Look! It's the Godslayer and Anakha! They're plotting to kill us all!"

"We shall slay them!" Several war gods jumped up, hands on their hilts.

"Ares, you fool!" Freya looked at them scornfully. "They are guests." Gradually, talk resumed. The three men assumed identical sardonic expressions.

"You get that a lot?" Althalus motioned to the crowd.

"No," remarked Garion drily. "Only eight days a week."

"Godslayer?" asked Sparhawk mildly. "Just how many gods have you slain?"

"One, actually. You?"

"Two. It wasn't very pleasant business."

"I'm floored to be in such august company." Althalus performed a florid bow.

"Shut up, Silk." "Shut up, Stragen."

"Thief I presume? Yes," both men spoke simultaneously.

By this time the goddesses were done bragging about their matchmaking. Aphrael looked cheerily at the four (Eriond included). "I see you've all met Eriond! Do you have a gift for me?"

Eriond nodded eagerly. As if built with an EriondDisaster! Alarm, the rest of the family hurried over to Aphrael's side. Tedious greetings once again commenced.

"Happy Bat Mitzvah, Aphrael!"

"Erm...I'm not thirteen, but thanks."

Felicidades, Maligayang Bati, blah blah blah. Eventually the fulsome wishes were over, and Eriond produced an enormous box, wrapped in brightly colored paper depicting cute pictures (a tiger, a rabbit, a bear and a piglet). The package was topped by a candy cane striped bow.

Sparhawk, Garion and Althalus exchanged similar looks of **D**read.

The family of Eriond—those who were aware of their surroundings, anyway—watched as Aphrael unwrapped her present. A single tug, and the gift was revealed.

The yellow monster beamed. "Chuu!" The Oliphaunt trumpeted its approval. And the elephant trumpeted its reply.

Only, it wasn't an elephant, per se. It was significantly smaller than even an infant pachyderm. No wrinkles were present in its grey skin. It had huge eyes that were inexplicably cute. And then there were the wings on its shoulder blades.

"That's one of Eriond's cross-breeding experiments," Garion whispered to the two men. "He called it a Heffalump, I think."

Sparhawk looked at the assorted animals. "And to think I was worried about a pet whale," he muttered. "She better not insist on keeping them in Cimmura."

"You're right, dear. That big one won't fit at all in the royal stables."

"Exactly, Ehlana! And that little mouse present near all our armor..." he broke off, startled. "EHLANA?"

His young wife, looking as lovely and regal as ever, stood facing her husband with her hands on her hips. "We'll talk in a moment, Sparhawk. There's something I need to settle first." She called out to Aphrael, who was still in the form of the princess of Elenia. "Danae!"

Aphrael turned and her eyes widened. She made one last-ditch effort. "Mother! Flute brought me here to a party. Wasn't it nice of her?"

"Lie to others, but not to your mother, dear. It's unseemly as a princess and a goddess."

Blink. Blink.

While her husband and her daughter gaped at her, she took the opportunity to introduce herself. "Hello. I'm Aphrael's mortal mother, the queen of Elenia. But you can call me Ehlana." She dimpled.

"Wow!" Setras kissed her hand. "You're her mother! I didn't know that!" The fair Styric god had arrived in the party with his mortal hitchhikers. He brightened. "That means you're my aunt, right?"

Bevier, close on his heels, frowned. _Great. MORE heretical thoughts_.

Berit frowned too. A lot of the goddesses were eyeing hum like he was a piece of meat. The rest were focused on Bevier. _Well, at least it's not_ all_ of them._

Danae recovered from her paralysis and smirked at Talen. "Hello, Talen," she purred. The novice, still wild-eyed with terror, stiffly nodded. The little girl took one step, and laughed evilly when he took a step back.

"I'll explain later," Sparhawk cut off Garion's and Althalus's questions. He and Vanion shot compassionate looks at Talen, the latter wordlessly clapping a hand on the youth's shoulder. Sephrenia, however, was too preoccupied to offer him sympathy; she was experiencing her own stalker encounter.

Zeus was coming her way.

The slight dark-haired woman began edging her way out of the crowd. The Greek god picked up the pace. Muttering Styric curses under her breath, Sephrenia picked up her skirts and started running...

BANG!

Her flight was abruptly cut short when she collided with another woman. The two brunettes fell to the floor. Their companions, who had been alerted by the noise, turned and saw the commotion.

"Zeus!" Aphrael—er, Danae—was steaming mad. "I TOLD you not to come near my sister!" The Church Knights rose without thinking; hey, if you're prepared to fight a god without _some_ magical object, there's a definite lack of forethought.

"Aphrael," Zeus spoke patronizingly, as if to an eight year old child. "These Champions of yours are mortals."

"Zeus," she said, just as condescendingly. "One of these mortals happens to be Anakha. My father."

The bearded god paled.

"And if he's my father, he's Sephrenia's too."

Zeus backed away from Sephrenia and focused on the other dark-haired woman. "What about her?" The woman raised her head and glared at him.

"Aunt Pol!" Garion burst out. He helped her to her feet. "What are you doing here?" He shot a baleful glance at the Greek god. "Don't touch her!"

Zeus without a woman was a fanfiction writer without internet. He roared like an enraged bull and a bolt of lightning appeared in his hand. In response, Garion drew the broadsword from his scabbard.

Blue fire burst forth, and the Orb sang "We Will Rock You" in Garion's mind.

All other activity ceased, and gods and goddesses of all shapes and sizes turned to look at the frozen tableau. Aphrael and the Church Knights were reassuring Sephrenia. Deiwos, Dweia, and Althalus were carefully observant. The Brothers looked on, ready to act as Garion stood in front of Polgara with his sword at the ready. Zeus had shifted, encased himself in armor.

Oh yeah. And a Tamul wind god made their hairs stream majestically back. And a Native American spirit was playing an old Western Shootout theme. But that's completely beside the point.

The air sizzled with tension. Zeus raised his arm high...

POP!

...looked up, and was promptly crushed by a large machine and a dirty-blonde boy.

Ghere sat up and gingerly rubbed his temples. "Owww..." He lit up when he saw Dweia. "Emmy! You're here! And Althalus!" He blinked. "Um...Where am I?"

"Not in Kansas," Belar muttered.

"Huh?" Gher looked down. Zeus's only visible body parts were his gold sandalled feet. "Who's that?"

"Congratulations," Deiwos said. "You've killed the wicked witch of the East."

"WHAT?"

tbc...

**

* * *

More of the Annoying Author's Notes:**

**Aphrodite, Erzulie,** and **Ashtar**: Greek, African, and Mesopotamian goddesses of love

**Anansi**, a.k.a. 'The Spider'. West African trickster/hero. Alright, so he's not really a godlet's just say he's acting as a representative for his father, sky-god Nyame. Thank you once again, encyclopedia mythologica.

**Parvati** is a Hindu mountain goddess. Consort of Lord Shiva. Not of Harry Potter. :D

The Norse goddess of love and fertility, **Freya**. Rather like Dweia, actually.

Ok, it's not exactly a **heffalump**. Forgive me—I haven't watched Pooh in a while, you know. My basis part **Dumbo**, part Pooh, and part those dragon-donkey babies in **Shrek 2**.

Okay, about **Omniwhere**. I'm aware that these gods are supposed to be omniscient, and well, godly, but something about the place brings out their human side. Otherwise, there wouldn't be any story, would there be?

I hope I'm not offending anyone by making **Zeus** such an ass. It's just that when I was reading Greek mythology he struck me as a skirt-chaser who won't take no for an answer (come to think of it, they all are sort of like that...) Also, I'm currently obsessed with the soundtrack of **Wicked**. The whole Wizard of Oz thing was spur-of-the-moment, I swear.

Heh, heh. I love **Queen**. Freddie Mercury rules!

* * *

Not as Annoying Replies:

Oliversgurl I've read book one of the Dreamers, and I confess I didn't like it as much. Seems too formulaic. However, I give kudos to the pink dolphins. I planned a cameo, anyway, when I wrote the outline. See if you get the joke above. As for the threatening..._I do not respond well to intimidation_. Else I sic the heffalump on you!

Philoworm_ See above for the aforementioned threats_. Dude, Ghend's Book was destroyed a loooong time ago. That and the Sardion. However, I guess I should be flattered that so many threats are coming out of the woodwork.Or not. The reason I wrote this in the first place was for Garion, Althalus, and Sparhawk to meet. :) Add gods, and you've got yourself chaos! The PlayDryad thing was spur of the moment, though. Don't worry. It will reappear. Buwahahahaha.

Ersatz: The Pokemon was a bout of insanity, harkening back to my semi-otaku days. Shudder. Yes, it's true I haven't mentioned Loki; maybe when EGGSA appears again he'll guest-star. As for Celtic gods, well—trust me, there'll be one. I haven't included any yet purposely, for a very stupid reason indeed.


	7. The Buffet Table

**AN:** I'm back! Did you miss me? Silence. Hmm…anyway, if everything goes according to schedule, there are two more chapters after this one. And then, the other stories will be written. For more details, check out my profile.

**

* * *

Aphrael's Birthday Party**

Chapter Seven: The Buffet Table

_Recap: _

_He looked down. Zeus's only visible body parts were his gold sandaled feet. "Who's that?"_

"_Congratulations. You've killed the wicked witch of the East."_

"_WHAT?"_

* * *

Hera dragged off her husband, profusely apologizing to the ladies. Belar made more snarky comments about munchkins, ruby slippers, and winged monkeys, before Belgarath spotted him and tackled him. Geran came right on his heels. By this time, the assorted mortals and their gods were causing such a ruckus that it was hard to tell who was doing what. 

Aphrael, who normally didn't mind a little chaos, decided some explanations were needed. She looked at one of her new animals, signaling it to call for order.

"PiiiikaaaaaCHUUUU!" The thunder shock left all of its targets slightly singed.

"Thank you," Aphrael petted it. She looked at the boy. "You first. Who are you and how did you get here?"

"Um…I'm Gher, and I accidentally pressed this button on my House thingy."

"He's one of ours, Aphrael," Dweia protectively hugged him. "He's a genius former thief."

Aphrael turned and smirked at Talen, who paled even further. Then the goddess's gaze shifted to Ehlana. "Mother, how long have you known that I was not mortal?"

Ehlana smiled at her daughter. "You think I've never noticed how your kisses tend to make peace between people? Or how similar 'Flute' and 'Danae' are?"

Aphrael stared at her mother. Ehlana sighed. "Leigh."

"Ah. Belgarath! Why are you and these other mortals here?"

"It wasn't my fault, Father," Geran quickly said, seeing Garion's darkened expression. "I think Grandfather's turned insane."

"The Old Wolf was convinced that Garion was in grave danger from Belar," Polgara calmly explained. "He exerted his will to transport the boy and me here, and to prevent Belar from playing Chopin."

They all looked at the Bear-God.

"Everyone's a critic," he muttered.

Althalus suddenly coughed. "Garion, your sword's still glowing."

"Oh." Garion looked at Iron-Grip's sword. "You can stop that now," he told the Orb. "And stop singing 'We Are the Champions' in my head. It's extremely disturbing."

"Uncanny," muttered Vanion to Nedra. "The only other person I've seen talking to an inanimate object was Sparhawk. With the Bhelliom."

When the word 'Bhelliom' was mentioned, the Orb flashed once. Suddenly Eriond assumed a wooden expression. "Bhelliom! Fo' real? Waddup, bruddah!"

"Destiny, Bhelliom's not actually here—" began Aphrael, when Sparhawk suddenly came forward and performed an elaborate handshake with the Dragon God.

"Dawg! Dat's one shiny bling" he pointed to the Orb.

"Ya ain't in da blue ice no more. Splain it—what brung dis bout?"

"Dam straight. Da Troll is _down_, dawg! My chile Sparhawk heuh kilt Khael good." Bhelliom waved Sparhawk's hand.

"Word. Dis one's mine." The Dragon God did a pirouette.

"Bhelliom n' Destiny are in da house!" boomed The Force, suddenly appearing with a young man at his side. The young man rolled his eyes. "Every year they change their accents! Last year they spoke Cockney English," he complained.

"Is that you, Anakin Skywalker?" Belgarath peered at him. The old man scowled. "Why are you so disgustingly…different?"

"You mean young and virile and asthma-free?" Anakin shrugged. "Dad thought that it would be a great advertisement for the last Star Wars movie that George Lucas would make, even if he does hate the NJO authors for killing off my grandson and the Wookie. In the real universe, they're quite alive."

"Hush yo mouth, boy," rebuked The Force, "Don't start blabbin' thangs deez peeps have no bizness knowin'."

Anakin snorted.

"Chill, Bro," Destiny made Garion's fingers form the peace sign, "we ain't heuh ta slam on ya. Keep it real, ayt?"

Sparhawk's head nodded. "We supposed ta give ya'll da heads up. Dem gods ya kilt are cookin' up sumtin'. And it worser den anytin' befo'."

"Fo' sho'," Destiny agreed. "Watevah it is, ya gotta be gangsta. We ain't doin' nuttin' ta stop diz, 'cuz we can't. just keep it real, n' ya'll be fine."

"I'm wid ya," The Force added.

And then, they were gone.

Sparhawk gingerly touched his mouth. "That sounded painful."

"Believe me," Althalus said, "it was."

* * *

Zeus was having a bad day. 

First, that mortal priestess refused him. Him! Zeus, the Almighty! Then that Anakha person showed up; so much for his 'persuasive method'. He thought he'd at least have the satisfaction of killing the other mortal, but that little pipsqueak fell from the sky. The humiliation he felt when Hera dragged him off was immense; it only increased when Hera started shrieking, banshee-like, in front of all the other chief gods. Thankfully, Juno appeared, and the two queen goddesses engaged in a catfight. Zeus was able to slip away, unnoticed.

"It's your own fault, you know," Bathala told him. Odin, Bathala, and Zeus were nursing beers that Belar managed to slip inside the party. "Your libido always gets you into trouble."

"I wansssshhh gurrl," Zeus slurred, "Hera no me lllikeey. Hera sshhcaaary. Alwayssh takesssh away my toyssh."

"He's the very picture of matrimonial fidelity," Odin observed.

"This is why I'm against incest," agreed Bathala.

"Lookshie! A pretty!" Zeus staggered to his feet and pointed. A servant in a french maid uniform was carrying trays to the buffet table.

"Zeus, maybe you shouldn't—" began Odin, but Bathala shushed him. "This could be fun."

They watched the Greek god approach the maid. They watched as she futilely attempted to rebuff Zeus's advances. They watched, utterly unmoved, as he carried her off.

"Should we tell Aphrael that EGGSA! is here, and probably attempting to do something incredibly stupid?" asked Bathala.

Odin, ever wise, shook his head. "Nah. She'll find out soon enough." He paused. "Never figured Cyrgon for a crossdresser."

"Yeah. I thought that was more Torak's style."

* * *

"I should have gone instead of Cyrgon!" wailed Torak. "My legs are nicer than his! I bet he doesn't even wax them!" 

Zandramas and Morgoth shuddered. It was more information than they wanted to hear, thanks. The two were there as advisers for the 'Foul Four', as the rejected gods were now called. So far, the two had managed to prevent them from using Weapons of Moronic Deployment, such as anvils and robots. They were still discussing the use of celestial makeup when Torak suddenly started fretting.

"Look, I'm sure Cyrgon's doing his job," Daeva assured him. Aside from his nasty whining, angsting, brooding, and annoying tendency to suck the life from everything around him, Daeva seemed capable of being a competent villain. Since he was the most intelligent of the four—though that by itself didn't say much—the destroyer god assumed leadership. He began outlining the plan.

"Okay. Once Cyrgon returns we start preparing. Torak, have you searched out the possible candidates?"

"Yes. The Internet is full of desperate people."

"Excellent. Azash! Have you freed our former allies?"

"It was somewhat difficult, yet the miscreants shall be here anon."

Daeva continued checking items off his list. Loki, who was just passing by, looked mildly impressed. "If he planned this way, he might have gotten Dweia's Book," he commented.

"Have you seen Vlag?" Zandramas asked the giant-Aesir. "I would have thought that _it_ would participate in this stupid venture."

"Nah. He has better sense than that." He offered Zandramas and Morgoth a skewered treat. "Snake barbecue, anyone?"

* * *

To say that Bevier was disturbed would be an understatement. 

He worked his heretic thoughts out, reasoning that Aphrael was a goddess who _did_ have an accord with his God, so he was not in danger about his musings. However, another crisis popped up. It had not gone unnoticed how many of the goddesses were salivating over him. True, most were looking at Berit, but it was extremely discomfiting nevertheless.

Well, really. He _knew_ he was extraordinarily handsome, but what need had he of good looks to serve the Lord? He prayed to his God for strength to endure their lusty stares. So absorbed was he in praying that he took no notice when a gong rang. Neither did he pay attention when one of the usherettes approached his assigned table and directed them to the buffet.

"You know, Bevier, you really don't have to pray that hard. You're giving me a migraine."

Bevier turned, and found himself face to face with God.

"Control yourself!" Snapped the Elene God when it was apparent that Bevier was going to genuflect. "Don't to that! I'm not at the office right now."

"M-my...God?" Bevier stammered. The Elene God was handsome, of course. He had curly black hair, the deepest brown eyes, and olive skin. If he didn't know any better...he refused to finish that thought.

God smiled knowingly at him. "There's a reason why you're so devout, Bevier of Arcium." He paused. "My son."

* * *

Further up the line, Sparhawk stared. "Gworg!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" 

The Toll god was in a natty white uniform. On his apron were the letters 'T.L.C.', and underneath the words "Trolls Love Catering—the perfect food awaits!'. The God of Kill smiled happily at Sparhawk. 'Greetings, Anakha! We get new job! You want eat? Gworg have sushi!"

Ghnomb, on the other hand, looked disgruntled. "Mate of Anakha, here are the salads and the pastas," he told Ehlana. "They are bird food, food an _ogre _would eat, but the Thief Goddess wished it."

"Where is Ulat-from-Thalesia?" growled Kwaj. "Kwaj have roasted dog! Bhlokw gave recipe."

"Schlee made dessert," the God of Ice announced, his voice like a thousand blizzards. "Ice cream is good for your belly-belly, and makes your mind-belly tingle."

Aphrael, who had been going up and down the buffet table and making sure the food was edible, suddenly looked up. "Where is Zoka?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "If he slipped in his 'special stuff'..."

The Troll God of Mating materialized beside the Child Goddess, dressed in a dapper maitre'd uniform. "Zoka did not cook heart-belly treats. Zoka knows that Aprael would cause much hurt to him if he did. Zoka instead in charge of theme."

Aphrael stared at the scantily-clad waitresses. "It figures," she muttered. "At least it wasn't Hooters." She walked over to where Bevier was doing a fairly impressive imitation of a goldfish. Oh. Aphrael rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Bevier, he's your God. Now your life has seen its crown—no, wait. That's Mother's line. Would you stop gaping? You're holding up the line."

"Aphrael," spake the Elene God. "It is discourteous of thee to speak thusly. This child of mine is a paramount gentle among his peers, and to suggest that he do such a rude deed bespoking his uncaring attitude towards others bodes ill thinking on thy part. Were thou to simply request him to resume surveying the banquet, he would have gladly acquiesed."

"Okay, Dan," Aphrael rolled her eyes. He was just so _stuffy_. She walked away, eager to put some distance between her and the Elene God's rhetoric.

Once she was gone, 'Dan' winked at the stunned Arcian knight. "They all think I'm the stodgiest person alive," he whispered gleefully. "Idiots. I _am _the God of the Elenes, after all. You children are remarkably corrupt."

"Holy Father..." Bevier faltered. "How can I be your biological son? The Viscount—"

"Dear boy, Aphrael isn't the only god who gets reincarnated every century or so. In fact, she isn't the only one who tried to manipulate events either. She's just the most obvious one, that's all. I became the Viscount, a marquis of Elenia, and an underworld crime lord to produce some of Anakha's companions."

A horrible suspicion dawned on Bevier, and he looked at Talen and Berit before returning his gaze to his God.

The Elene God smiled, "There's a reason you three were brought here. Something unpleasant is going to happen, but it's necessary." He added, "Let's hope your brother and nephew are up to it, too."

Anakin walked by and clapped a sympathetic hand on Bevier's shoulder. "I know how you feel. Hey, at least you found out you were a demigod _before_ you died. All I was able to do was the glowing blue ghost thing."

Bevier decided not to comment.

* * *

EGGSA Headquarters... 

The Evil Goons were on guard duty. Then again, weren't they always? The Gits were too busy smarming at each other, the Gym instructors were trying to reform the Gamers, and the sole Gungan was reading his hate mail—it had decreased to a manageable level, hesa thanked George Lucas for episode three. As a result, the Goons were coerced into becoming full-time sentries. Not that they minded; their gooniness allowed a laxity and ineptness in whatever assignment they had.

"3262, I just read your paper on the qualitative differences among molecules of different dimensional geothermal orbitals. Your use of 826's subquantum particle ray apparatus was simply brilliant."

"Why thank you, 142. But surely it couldn't compare to your own treatise on how the ultimate installment of the Star Wars saga reflects the mindset of certain current leaders as well as events. I love how you deftly extrapolated on the religious themes as seen by the Milton-esque appearance of Anakin Skywalker."

"Gentlemen," 60687, their resident expert on law and governance approached them. "I hate to break this up, but Cyrgon has been spotted returning at top speed. We have to start indolently lounging about now."

The three goons sighed when they heard the gong sound. When Cyrgon arrived but a few seconds later, he saw a couple of goons with vacant expressions and empty hands. One was even picking his nose. Cyrgon, however, was too exhausted to reprimand them. With a disdainful sneer and a huff, he ascended the staircase.

142 waited for at least two minutes, and then he put on his glasses. "Well," he said, "that went well."

"He looks like a drag queen out for a stroll in an American football field," remarked 3262. "This is a pretty asinine plot the Evil Gods thought up."

60687 agreed. "And they say we're the idiots."

TBC…

**

* * *

More Educational Crud and By-The-Ways!**

I hope I haven't offended anyone with the hip-hop dialect thingy. Part of it I got from **Mara Juarez's eboniks **web site, since I am in no way proficient in the tongue. Hence, if it doesn't sound authentic…at least I tried.

Just for clarification…**Anakin Skywalker** is calling the Force his dad because of his immaculate conception. I toyed with the idea of making it Anakin Solo, but I'm bitter. (Sniff)

**Juno** is the Roman equivalent of Hera. Can you just imagine the two screeching at each other?

The Philippines is rich in legends; however, a lot of them were destroyed when the Spaniards came and Christianized us. **Bathala** (Bat-HA-la) is a pagan creation god from Tagalog-speaking regions (Philippines has a lot of dialects), one of the few gods I actually know from the myths.

A giant in Norse mythology, **Loki** is nevertheless considered an Aesir, one of the gods. He's a trickster, and chained because of the death of Balder (think pretty-boy of the gods). Students of Norse mythology (or just geeks like me) should get the significance of the snake.

OH SWEET LORD! Where in the sharding hell did _that_ come from? Then again, I always knew **Bevier** was divine...right (awkward pause). So basically I made Bevier, Talen, and Berit demigods. Talen is Bevier's 'nephew' because aside from the Viscount and the Marquis, Bevier's and Berit's fathers, 'Dan' also became Elys's father—Elys, who happens to be Talen's mother.

* * *

Replies! I love you people!

Philoworm Babbling is fun. Never forget, kiddies, the importance of a good ramble. And if those objects are destroyed, they can't be used, right :P Besides, Omniwhere's mine. _Take that._ :))

Gea: Trust me. There'll be more gods.

Lady Bevier: **_EVERYONE READ THIS_**. I love Bevier too. You know, my sister and I were talking a year back about the 'cast' discussions in various Eddings sites, and disagreed with many. Well, **Bevier** came up, and we agreed instantly that it should be **Orlando Bloom**. Come on...black curly hair, _utterly gorgeous_, knows sword-fighting and archery, has that earnest sort of demeanor...he's perfect for it. Then "Kingdom of Heaven" came...**_ HAH! We knew it, we knew it! _**Cough. Okay, rambling done.

Oliversgurl: Elder gods is an okay series. I'm just not a fan(atic) about it. :D Hope the Hera-Juno catfight satisfies you.

yumichan808: you ain't seen nothing yet. :D Wait till you see the end of the story.

Miss Talkalot: Stragen's already there. Maybe they can show up in the next chapter, or in the following stories. See my profile for more info.

Laurewen Greenleaf: I'm sorry. This would have been earlier if not for I had a hell of a time uploading this.

Isilhen Daegol: Grammar mistakes! Where? I'm pretty annoyed when it comes to typos. Deiwos is from 'The Redemption of Althalus'—read it; it's a great standalone novel from Big Dave. Zandramas _IS _supposed to be missing, a couple of the gods are supposed to be dead, and Bevier is in no way the son of the Elene god. That's why it's a fanfic. The Bevier fanatics here are RABID. Seriously. And thank you for your candor—I hated writing all the greetings, but it had to be done. Don't worry, I'm confused too.

skribe: thank you. But haven't you noticed that David Eddings tends to write about the same kind of people?

Asanohoshi: Ask Deiwos. He's the 'Crazy old Maurice' inventor.

**Hey, can you guys review my other story, too? Thankies!**


	8. Parlor Games

_A girl hulks over in front of the computer. She is Asian, quite possibly insane, and currently drooling over a calendar of hot Catholic priests; Bevier fan(atic)s might want to partake of this Calendario Romano 2004. Beside her is her Muse, whose name and form and temperament vary at his creator's whim—which is often. At the moment he's a Cyrinic knight, gazing with horror at the calendar of clergymen._

"_Lochaber! Quit gaping. You're in charge of exposition."_

"_Milady, how could you leer so at men of the collar?"_

"_Mmm…collar, eh? Leave me alone—the proceeds _do_ go to charity—and start yapping. Ooh…Mayo…"_

_The Muse sighs, and begins recounting. "The story thus far: Aphrael of Styricum, upon reaching the eighth year of her latest incarnation, decided to host and immortal party. Of note in her guest list were three mortals: the thief Althalus, the first mortal to wed a god and to destroy her brother's power; King Belgarion of Riva, the Child of Light who Slew one god and chose another; and her own father, Anakha, who championed his world against Khael and refused immortality._

"_It soon became clear to a foul and loathsome organization that they were excluded from the festivities. Hardest hit were the gods who Aphrael's mortal guests vanquished. And so, they plotted to avenge this slight._

"_The three mortal champions of different worlds met, and hints of another Event were given. It boded ill further when other mortals, affiliated to the heroes in diverse ways, were somehow transported to the festivities. A great many revelations were made. Meanwhile, Cyrgon had successfully completed a mission, one so nefarious that only the Foul Four knew. He then made his way back to their evil stronghold for the next part of their scheme."_

_The Cyrinic knight finally finished his recitation; exhausted, he downed his bottle of mineral water. The girl patted his armor-clad shoulder._

"_That'll do, knight. That'll do."_

**Aphrael's Birthday Party**

Chapter Eight: Parlor Games

Some habits were hard to break.

Talen made sure he was safely hidden away before taking out the object he filched. Even after years of forced Pandion training, he sometimes had the itch to steal. He studied the winged sandals.

"Your technique was a little rusty, but it was nevertheless impressive. You managed to thieve off a thief god."

Talen looked up, cursing himself for not being more careful. The man called Althalus and Talen's victim was there, as well as the little boy. What was his name again? Oh, Gher.

The thief god grinned. "You're lucky I'm not like the rest of my family," Hermes grabbed the footwear and relaced his feet, "they're all such sore losers. Besides, I feel that Aphrael's interest in you is punishment enough."

Talen forced back the terror he felt at the mention of that name.

A hand clapped on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Bevier. "My Lords," Bevier spoke respectfully, "please excuse me, but I ask that You not tease him. You all know the Child Goddess. This is no laughing matter."

"You're right," agreed Hermes. He looked around, and then he spoke in a whisper. "If she wasn't on our side, she'd be Evil Incarnate."

A white roadrunner suddenly popped up from the bushes, beeping. It leered at the two thieves, and then dashed off. Althalus and Hermes exchanged a look, and the Greek god was off giving chase to the animal.

"Maybe you can speak to your God about it," Althalus offered, before following the scorch marks that Hermes's retrieved sandals made.

"Wow!" Gher said, looking at Bevier and Talen. "You guys look terror-fried!"

The two terror-fried Elenes decided not to comment.

* * *

ALL THINGS JUST KEEP GETTING WORSE… 

Daeva strutted down the rampway in full King of Pain mode. As he walked, his feet left pools of fire on the floor. At the end of the ramp, he paused, turned around, and snapped his fingers. Instantly the clean, presentable showroom was reduced to mucky rubble. He posed with a garish floor map.

DAEVA: INTERIOR DESIGN.

He was shoved out of the rampway by a cabal of clay figures. A large sculpture of a creature in an obscene position was placed in the center. The sound of a guillotine blade being lowered, and the scream of a man in absolute pain was heard. Then Azash burst out of the sculpture. He was wearing a set of teeth that was a dentist's worst nightmare, and a bald head crawling with lice. His grotesque features fixed themselves into a grimace, and he brandished a broken mirror.

AZASH: GROOMING AND HYGIENE

A bronze gong sounded, and a couple of muscle-bound leather-skirted morons poked Azash with their spears until he left the stage. The gong sounded again. It was accompanied with discordant techno beats, and the overall effect was like an ancient hymn on Prozac. While the half-naked men with the oversized pecs and tiny heads flexed their biceps to the beat of the 'music', posters of 'art' dropped down next to the remnants of the rampway. Puce-colored mist swirled around, and when it dissipated there was Cyrgon, with a guitar with no strings slung on his shoulder.

CYRGON: CULTURE

An elegant hand, painted with pink nail polish, reached out to yank a tasseled rope. Immediately a pile of clothes rained down on Cyrgon and his troupe. A giant corset wrapped around them and, squeezing as it did so, ushered them off the scene. Mannequins clad in everything from newspaper business suits to plastic doublets to bamboo bikinis strutted on the walkway. The she-dragon, in a designer kimono, blushingly torched said mannequins. The creator of these outfits triumphantly pumped his girly fists. He was wearing an iron tank top and a polyester miniskirt.

TORAK: FASHION

A muddied Daeva, a bleeding Azash, and a gasping Cyrgon joined Torak on the rampway, and sucker-punched each other. They turned to face their audience. Gaps in their teeth now showed when they grinned.

THE FOUL FOUR: QUEER GODS FOR THE MORTAL SODS

Their audience, needless to say weren't very impressed.

"I give it a two," announced Hel.

"Three-point-five," said Morgoth.

"Six." Everyone looked askance at Loki. He shrugged. "I'm a fan of Queer Eye. The snake let me watch TV."

"Isn't there supposed to be five of them?" wondered Zandramas.

Off to one side, Vlag glumly sat eating _balut. _ His sign, VLAG: FOOD, lay unused beside him.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Aphrael's birthday party, the games had started. The Child Goddess gave the orders that Stop Dance was to be the first game; playing using mortals was very fun indeed. Surprisingly, it was Henga and the Elene God who were the final two contenders. The two seemingly stuffy deities frowned at each other. Pink's "Get the Party Started" began playing.

* * *

"_Have you seen Bevier, Berit, Talen, and the others?" asked Dolmant. "They seem to be missing. And Sparhawk is acting odd as well."_

_Ulath shrugged. "I think it's just your imagination, Sarasthi." He very casually tore of a chunk from the chicken leg with his teeth._

_Kalten approached them. "Ulath, that's disgusting."_

"_This from a man who has ale stains all over his shirt."_

"_Point taken…I'm coming up so you better get this party started…"_

"_I'm coming up, I'm coming…"_

_Domant blinked. Was it his imagination, or were the two burly Church Knights really singing and dancing in front of him? His Archprelate powers sensed the Hand of God, and he relaxed. Oh; Dan was probably just messing around._

_Ulath was leaping and Kalten doing a pirouette when the music abruptly stopped. They froze in midair. Dolmant walked around the still figures, marveling at their impossible postures. Minutes passed. He then noticed a miniscule eyebrow twitch. Dolmant pointed triumphantly at Ulath._

"_Aha! Henga moved!" he crowed. "The Elene God wins!"_

* * *

Henga grumpily accepted the runner-up prize. The Elene God's stoic façade did not waver as he received the goody bag, but inside he was gleefully dancing an Irish jig. Aphrael gave the signal for the next game, Relay Races, to begin. 

_

* * *

Khalor frowned. Where was Gher? He hadn't seen that little ragamuffin all day. The strange contraption in the abandoned shed was gone, as well. He went back to the cottage he shared with Alaia. The sergeant started to kiss his wife good afternoon, but stopped, and swiveled to face the guest._

"_Eliar!" Khalor couldn't mask the surprise in his voice. "What are you doing here? Isn't Andine due at any moment now?"_

_The boy nodded miserably; whether it was from being apart from the Arya or seeing his mother almost kiss his commander, Khalor didn't know. Or particularly care. "Emmy contacted me." The Arum lad explained, "and she didn't give us any choice in the matter. I'm sorry…"_

_Sorry for what? Suddenly Khalor found himself in a hall with Andine and oddly enough, the former exarch Aleikon. They all had their hands tied behind their backs; spoons made of unfamiliar white material were shoved inside their mouths, with green balls nestled in the hollows. Andine and Khalor exchanged baffled looks, ignoring Aleikon. Eliar reappeared, and shot a pleading glance at the Arya of Osthos. The Arya returned this with a glare that promised retribution._

"_Don't get mad at me, Andine. It's the gods' idea." Eliar then went on to explain the mechanics of the game. They will run, as fast as they can, to the next person on the list and transfer the 'calamansi' to his or her spoon. The first race that would finish would win._

_Win what? Khalor wanted to ask, but suddenly the knife turned its Song into a Gunshot, and despite not knowing what a gunshot was, Khalor immediately reacted. He leaned forward and began running. In already ten seconds, he outpaced Andine and Aleikon by a couple of feet._

_Andine waddled slowly. She exchanged a wordless look with Eliar. Cowed, the Arum looked over his shoulder and ushered his wife through a door._

_Althalus, who was overseeing the event as a judge-slash-commentator, blinked. Wasn't that cheating? He shrugged. Andine was pregnant, after all. He started narrating the event._

"_The Aruma are in the lead, closely followed by the Treboreans. The clergy seem to be behind a one-mile radius…what did you expect, anyway? They're _clergy_! Khalor passes the calamsi to Abron…and slips! Now the Arums have to restart at the checkpoint…meanwhile, the clergymen are gaining on the Treboreans…must be because Yeudon chases sheep all the time. Things are not looking good for the Treboreans. From a pregnant woman to an elderly—ouch, Emmy, that was painful!_

"_The Arums are going really strong. Albron's given the ball to Twengor…Dhakan is still walking…and now it's Emdahl for the clergymen! He's running, nearly a meter from the Arums…oooh. So close to the checkpoint, and he dropped it! Now the clergy have been overtaken by the Treboreans._

"_They're picking up speed. Nitral…Bherdor…wait, Bherdor tripped, now he has to repeat. The Arums are now a yard ahead. They're almost a safe bet to victory. Koleika Iron-Jaw's taken the ball now and it's only a minute before he reaches Laiwon…the clergy still have two more people to go…"_

"_Wait a second…said two seem to be conferring. Bheid, Leitha, what in the world are you doing? They're both…praying."_

_A nanosecond later, Bheid was at the finish line, the green fruit sitting sedately in his plastic spoon._

"_The clergymen win!" Althalus announced._

* * *

"Pay up," Aphrael happily crowed as she brandished the bundles of paper. "Everyone seems to have bet on the Arums." 

The gods grudgingly complied, though not before shooting murderous glares at Deiwos. The maker god smiled innocently.

* * *

"So," Talen finally spoke after a long silence, "we're related, huh?" 

"Yes," Bevier's voice was very curt.

"We're gods?"

"I should hope not." His voice was rather stiff as well. Talen thought that the knight—or dare he say it, _uncle_—had loosened up over the years; this new shock must have brought out his former stuffiness. "If you should want to put it that way, I am half-god. You are a quarter."

"Ah." Talen paused. A disturbing thought came to him. "What will Aphrael do if she finds out?"

The look Bevier gave Talen spoke volumes.

"Have you seen the young god?" a voice called out. Both Elenes jumped. Gher snickered. Really, it didn't take a boy genius to realize that these two were demigods. Ooh. Shiny!

Gher fixated on the gold coin in front of him, scarcely noticing the young man that entered.

Geran was frantic. Where had Eriond disappeared to? The moment he had his back turned (chatting with a nice guy, Hephaestus, who reminded him of Uncle Durnik), the Dragon God was gone.

Why _did_ he say 'young god'? Vulcan must've affected him more than he realized. All those 'thees' and 'thous' were rather painful.

"Hello," he introduced himself to the three other males in the garden. "I'm looking for the Dragon God Eriond. Have you seen him?"

"Mmm."

"Nope."

"I am sorry, but we have not seen him."

"All right. Thanks." Geran started to leave the garden they were in, and then paused. He turned and stared at the two knights. Then, to Talen's and Bevier's surprise, he actually embraced them.

"Sucks, doesn't it?" Geran asked sympathetically. "I know how you feel. It's a burden being the Great Godslayer's son as well."

"How did you know?" Talen demanded. If this blondie could find out so fast, maybe Aphrael…he decided not to go there. No use in torturing oneself.

"Don't worry. It's not obvious. Only we could recognize our own, unless you display your new powers."

"Ah." Bevier couldn't seem to think of anything to say. He opened his mouth, but was interrupted by the arrival of another handsome young man.

Berit was wearing a harried expression similar to the one that Geran had donned when he entered. However, the knight's appearance was markedly different from the prince's. While Geran's doublet remained immaculately blue, Berit's clothing was torn in several places. The Rivan's long face was due to the disappearance of the Dragon God; Berit's was most likely caused by the lipstick smears all over his uncovered flesh.

"My God!" Bevier said with feeling. He blanched a second later, as if realizing what he just said, but sallied on. "What happened to you?"

"I hate goddesses," Berit gasped. He sagged to the ground and began scrubbing himself in vain. "The paint won't come off!" he cried hysterically.

Talen waved his hands, and the stains vanished. "Wow, it worked," he mused.

Berit gaped up at him. "How did you do that?" he asked.

Talen and Bevier shared a grim look.

Five minutes later, Berit was still gaping. "You're not serious," he muttered. All the other men—including Geran and Gher—nodded. Berit groaned.

"Great. Just great. If those goddesses inside find out, I'm dead."

"I think _I'm _the one with the bigger problem. You're not the one saddled with Aphrael," Talen shuddered.

Berit shrugged, stood up, and began dusting his clothes off. "Eh. I guess you're right."

* * *

After playing Musical Chairs, Newspaper Dance, Charades and some more esoteric games, it was time for the last one. Eriond was nowhere to be found, however, so a few uneasy moments passed before Aphrael decided to go ahead and mess with his mortals.

* * *

"_Zakath," a voice whispered._

"_What is it, honey-pumpkin?" he murmured sleepily, his body rolling unto Cyradis's side of the bed. His eyes flew open. She wasn't there. Instead, the Empress of Mallorea stood at the door, blocking the light from the hall with her diminutive frame. She was wearing her seer robes again, Zakath noticed with a touch of **D**read. A dark cloth once again cloaked her eyes. "Beloved," spake she, "the gods are calling."_

"_Honey, I thought we weren't going to play that game anymore." He gave her a lecherous grin, trying to defuse the distinctly ominous mood. It didn't work. _

"_Emperor of Mallorea, Empty Man. The gods are calling. A task is set in front of thee of the utmost importance and the direst urgency. Thou must to horse, to quell the loathsome beast that thy God hath created."_

"_What did that dragon do?" Zakath started muttering curses not uncommon to a Camaar fishwife's vocabulary as he clumsily rolled out of his bed. He jerkily pulled on comfortable clothing and strange armor called Kevlar, which the Dragon God assured him was 'flame-retardant'._

"_Empty Man, Man of Ice. Thou must make haste. The creature hath severed its tail, and thus enraged itself. The appendage must needs to be attached anew, lest the beast wreak havoc upon thy kingdom. E'en champions from across the seas hath traversed to this realm to lend aid. Awaken thine son, High King of Angarak. His assistance is required."_

_Zakath stared at his wife for around two decades. "We're going to have to pin the tail on the dragon?" he nearly yelled._

_She gave a slow nod. He muttered one final curse and set off to find Korzeth._

_Cyradis unfolded the dark cloth from her eyes and glanced upwards. "The iceman cometh."_

_By the time Zakath managed to rouse Korzeth (who was about two years younger than Geran), the breeding pens were nearly decimated. Fully half of the Grolims—most of which volunteered for this duty in the hope that Eriond would pay them special favors—lay groaning on the ground. Various implements were in pieces. A sizeable chunk of Barak's slightly-greyed russet hair was burned off, and Mandorallen's normally unflappable exterior was haggard (to put it mildly)._

_The dragon, on the other hand, was having a ball. Though its tail was severed from its body, it was not bleeding or howling in fury. Instead, it was happily thumping around and destroying Zakath's property. _

_Okay. The dragon was going _down_. Those towers cost him half a million Tolnedran crowns! Zakath advanced upon the dragon with his light-as-a-feather-but-pretty-much-deadly broadsword. His mouth was set in a determined line, his eyes resolute._

_The dragon belched, and Zakth went down flat._

"_Father!" Korzeth cried. Oh man, where was Uncle Garion when you needed him? All the world's Champions were here, groaning on the ground, except for the Rivan King and his friend. This _

_It was only him and the dragon now. Gulp._

_Suddenly there was a rush of feathers over his head. He gaped as he saw two hawks with purple and blue bands change into people. One was a misshapen grim man and the other was a gorgeous voluptuous woman. Both were wearing strange leather clothing and darkened spectacles._

"_Who are you?" Korzeth blurted out._

_The man scowled. "It doesn't matter who we are, boy. What matters is that you clean up this mess before it gets out of hand. I'm not leaving retirement for some stupid party." _

_He jammed his hands into his pockets and withdrew them to reveal two tiny capsules. "What will it be, Korzeth? The red pill or the blue one?"_

_Korzeth blinked. And blinked some more. He probably would have kept blinking until the dragon merrily turned his way and ate him. Luckily, Vella rolled her eyes and shoved the correct capsule into his mouth. Distracted by certain _assets_, he swallowed it without complaint. Suddenly a light came into his eyes._

"_There is no spoon," Korzeth declared with all the fervid assurance of an Elvis believer. _

_Beldin nodded satisfactorily at Vella. "Our work here is done," he announced. "Now let's go find a phone. We're missing F.R.I.E.N.D.S. reruns." The two leather-clad cussers transformed once more and left the scene._

_Korzeth walked over to the still-twitching tail. He calmly cut a long strip of fabric from his robes and firmly tied it to block his sight. He picked up the tail and started walking. Soon, his mother's voice filled his head._

_Forward…left…no, the other left…diagonal right…LA walk to the right again…do the hokey-pokey and turn yourself around…_

_Mother!_

_Fine, son. A little bit to the left, and you're done._

_Finally_

_And he was. _

* * *

"You know, I've always wanted to be a lawyer." Bevier said. All five of them were still hidden in the isolated alcove in the garden. Talen and Gher were busy exchanging thieving techniques, which left the three older boys to commiserate on their prettiness. "At least in the courthouses they're all male. Quite a few of the interpersonal relationships are still poisonous, I'm sure, but at least noblewomen don't DARE hunt around for barristers." 

"Yeah? Well you don't have it as bad as I do," retorted Berit. "Remember when we went to Tamuli? The Queen and Baroness were laughing at me. THE WHOLE TIME! I didn't even notice the Atanas until Sparhawk quietly warned me!"

"Seems unnatural having women fight," Bevier noted with distaste, "I will never be attracted to someone who can beat me like a man."

Famous last words, Bevier. Famous last words.

"You two at least won't be forced to marry," Geran pointed out after an ominous pause. Bevier's last statement had been punctuated by a sharp crack of thunder (never mind that it shouldn't have been possible in Aphrael's fair-weather home). Geran continued, "I'm the crown prince. Sooner or later, Mother is going to be bringing from all over the vapid ladies of the world to gape at me like I'm a side of beef. Father says that it would be fine with him if I married a scullery maid, but _nooo_, Mothers says I should 'get a better deal' than she did."

He paused. "Frankly, if _those_ are what she calls better deals, I'd rather kiss a corpse."

Berit sighed next to him. "For once, I wish that a lady would see past my face."

Talen and Gher had been listening to their conversation, and their faces showed extreme distaste. "Girls are icky," said Gher. "I'd rather play with a cat like Emmy. And steal stuff."

"Aphrael," muttered Talen.

Suddenly, six multicolored rabbits bounded into view. They were all googly-eyed despite their thick spectacles, and had ink stains all over their stubby widdle paws. They stopped in front of the boys.

"Awww…" they later vehemently denied saying.

The rabbits promptly blurted their tongues at the young men, and continued bounding. An all-too-familiar voice grew louder and louder.

"Wait! Plot bunnies! All I said was I'd like a playmate shorter than me! And good-morning kisses are TOO better than goodnight ones! Big Brother Belar is wrong!"

Eriond crashed into their secluded little garden. He was quite a sight. The once-immaculate robes were caked with—well, cake. Bits of pastry flew off him every time he gestured wildly (which was only every three seconds). As a result, all five other boys got a mouthful of devil's food cake. Mm. Delicious.

"Wait and see!" Eriond howled after the bunnies. "I'm right, I know I am! Just wait until I grow up!"

The little rodents of course ignored him. Now that they were hatched, nothing could stand in their way…

Which, in retrospect, was all for the best.

Tbc..

**

* * *

Footnotes (Yet again)**

**Hermes** is the Greek god of merchants, thieves, and travelers. One of the only intelligent deities in the pantheon, I'm afraid.

Anyone here watch Fear Factor? **Balut** is duck fetus eaten raw. Eeew…

**Calamansi **is A Filipino fruit similar to lime. It's small, green, and round, which makes it perfect for relay races.

**Hephaestaus, **Roman Vulcan. Lame god of the Greeks. Smith. Aphrodite's cuckolded husband.

I'm sorry, I had to include yet another obscure pop-culture reference (knee-jerk reaction, I'm afraid). **The Iceman Cometh** is a very depressing play. Research on it, won't ya?

* * *

NEXT CHAPTER: the final chapter. Just how many surprises can be crammed in? You'd be surprised...  



	9. The Birthday Cake

**Author's Note:**

Good Lord, it _has_ been a long time, hasn't it? I haven't updated in years—partly because, I confess, I've lost interest. But with one chapter to go, and with all the nice reviews, I figure I have to end it, once and for all. Cue dramatic pause.

Thank you, thank you, _thank you_, to all those who read and reviewed, and all those who read and enjoyed, and all those who read and snorted milk up their nose. When I started writing this, I never thought I'd get this much feedback. It truly boggles. It does. Blush.

Once this is over, I can't promise that the rest of the planned stories listed in my author profile will be written. Four years on, I've moved on from this particular fandom, and therefore to "get back into the mood" would entail rereading all three series once more. Muh. Effort. Therefore, use your imagination!

Apologies for any writing style changes or canon inaccuracy. And for the derivative plot devices I'm using. (read: Cliché ahoy!)

And, people. Prepare yourselves for some major crack.

* * *

**Aphrael's Birthday Party**

Chapter Eight: The Birthday Cake

_

* * *

_

**_Somewhere…_**

Raven Twilight Tolkien-Lewis-Rowlings was ready for love.

She had to be. After all, she was already _thirteen_.

She sighed melodramatically, typing her misspelled and ungrammatical farewell letter.

_

* * *

_

**_Somewhere else…_**

Wysteria Cornucopia Atreides Skywalker was busy with her own preparations. She affixed the glittery—_garish—_tiara atop her golden-as-the-sun head. She sighed as she gazed at the mirror, practicing her innocent-as-a-lamb gaze. "Your Majesty, long have I waited for your kiss…"

"Jen-jen! Lunchtime!" a voice shouted from below. Fuming, Jen-jen whipped off her pink-as-a-bottle-of-Pepto-Bismol wig and stomped downstairs to give her mother a piece of her mind.

_

* * *

_

**_And just beyond the rainbow…_**

Susan Kim, quite a decent girl by anyone's standards, was "admiring the sights" as she jogged past her university's track field, where, quite by coincidence (cough, cough), the men's varsity team happened to be training. And sweating. Without shirts. One such sight was so distracting that she failed to notice a sign labeled "PLOT."

She fell into the hole.

Sue started screaming as the hole went on, and on, and on. What the heck was happening? _What_, did she accidentally inhale the weed that the campus druggies were farming behind the track field? Was she hallucinating because of her Children's Lit class? The vertical tunnel she fell into displayed a riot of colors, with picket signs and all. Andy Warhol paintings were strumming guitars.

"We have rights too!" A particularly indignant puce screamed at her.

As she fell, she could have sworn she heard softly snickering bunnies.

She landed on the ground with a soft _whoof_, and shook her head to clear her mind of color wheel suffragettes. "Damn you, Art Stud!" she cried to the closing hole.

"Pray tell, dear sister, who art this "Ortzud" that thou so clearly detest?" A girl inquired, looking prettily at her. Sue trailed her gaze up. The unhealthily thin girl was wearing a frilly pink concoction that appeared to be made for a Barbie doll, with matching proportions.

Sue looked down at herself, and screamed.

**

* * *

At the Birthday Party…**

"We are the champions, my friend," Dan slurred.

"And weee'll keep on fighting, till the end," Deiwos continued.

"Freddy, save us," muttered Elvis.

Dan belched. "Ah, everyone'ssh a critic."

The games were over, and the winners of most of the games were, suspiciously, the Elene God and Deiwos. Belar started raising objections, but luckily enough a pint of Aphrodesia Root Beer was enough to placate him. Soon, the Bear God was singing "Heaven's What I Feel When I'm With You."

Apologies to Gloria Estefan.

It was, to put it mildly, disturbing. Aphrael decided to put a stop to it. Several white barrels appeared, hovering over the drunkards' heads. At her signal, the barrels of icy water upended themselves upon the sots.

"You know, that's not going to cut it," Polgara informed her. "Belar takes at least two years to sober up."

Aphrael smirked and flicked her fingers.

The drunk men started shrieking and grasping the sides of their heads. "Gah! Brain freeze! Brain freeze! Brain freeze!"

The barrels read: LIQUID NITROGEN LIME SLUSHIES. WILLY WONKA FACTORIES, UNLIMITED.

Aphrael smiled sweetly at the pained men. "Good morning, starshine. The earth says hello."

* * *

Meanwhile, the boys were still in the garden. They managed to clean themselves of the goop, tasty on their skin though it was. (Eriond, of course, merely transformed himself into a dragon and licked his scaly hide). A gong sounded, signaling the end of the games.

Berit was wary. "I don't know about you gentlemen, but I _really_ don't want to go back in there."

It's true Berit wanted to avoid those omnipotent she-things that have been salivating at him for the past three hours. But he was also worried about his, er, brother. The revelation that he was a demigod was startling to Berit, but nothing too damaging to his sense of reality. He was right about _Danae_, after all. (Poor Talen). Bevier finding out that he was biologically a son of God, though…

Berit observed another tic in Bevier's left eye. It was growing more pronounced. He sincerely hoped that the older knight's sanity would be salvageable.

Crazy demigods didn't have a great track record.

Talen was watching Bevier too, eyes narrowed and lips pressed together. The other three—well, two of them—finally caught on.

"What's wrong with Mister Knight?" whispered Gher to Geran.

"Well, judging from his facial tic he's one of those almost fanatically religious chivalric clergymen, worshipping his god and his religion with really creepy devout zeal. Finding out that God is his Daddy isn't doing wonders for his lifelong beliefs," the Rivan prince said.

Geran paused and shook his head in disgust. "I've been hanging around Uncle Silk far too often."

Eriond, eyes blank, said, "They're coming."

Bevier seemed to snap out of his trance. He smiled wearily at them. "Have no fear, my friends. I have no intention of losing my mind…at least not until after the party."

The other men relaxed fractionally. They still would have preferred to remain in the garden until all the goddesses left, but six holes appeared on the ground they were standing.

Thus Aphrael's guests were called back into the party.

* * *

Yay! The games were over. But where was everybody? Aphrael frowned.

"Engage the tunnels," she ordered. The meerkats snapped to attention and scurried. Aphrael waited for a few minutes. Soon surprised yells filled the air as her dinner guests were tumbled unceremoniously into the garden. They emerged from tunnels from all angles, some of which were filled with brightly colored plastic balls.

"Ow. I can't feel my legs! I can't feel my legs!" panicked Vulcan.

Everyone stared at him.

"Oh. Right. Forgot about that, sorry."

Eriond admired the balls. "Oooh. Purdy!"

"Brother, save me," whispered Berit, inching closer to Bevier. The Cyrinic's tic was back. A slight twitch of his hand, and suddenly a barrier of glass appeared between them and the ravenous goddesses.

The boy stared at his hands. Luckily for the knight, the other guests thought it was all Eriond's doing.

"Well done, my son," the Elene god crowed.

Aphrael frowned. Her party! _She_ was supposed to be the center of the attention! She whistled so low that only canine-oriented beings heard the sound, and they covered their ears and winced (like Anubis, Belgarath, Garion, Geran, and Sesshoumarou, who was there because he was white and fluffy).

Except for the inu-demon. This Sesshoumarou does not wince.

Then _everyone_ started wincing and covering their ears, because Aphrael summoned the Bagpipe Bats. A creation of Deiwos somewhat gone awry, he had gifted them to Aphrael on her graduation from Eden Kindergarten. It was a grave mistake, he found out as he cowered from the sound. When the music finally faded, the guests uncovered their ears and slowly rose to their feet. Aphrael was standing at the head of a table, seemingly stretching endlessly.

"Sit," she commanded. They as one sat. Anakha, Garion, and Althalus as her invited mortal guests sat to her right. Ehlana sat to her left. Following them were the bigwigs in the deity business—Zeus was still smarting over his earlier humiliation—and then the minor gods who were arguing over which one of them wreaked the worst disaster on humans.

The boys were shunted off to a small, pink plastic table. Bevier seemed to have found himself again, and he quickly taught his newfound abilities to Berit. Within moments their little pink table was goddess-impenetrable.

Sephrenia quietly snickered, and the meal carried on. The dinner, involving pink elephants, dancing Mathildas and a recounting of _all_ of Scheherazade's tales, would have to be told in another story.

Aphrael stood up, her form nevertheless dwarfed by her seated father and Garion. "Hello, everybody. I'd like to thank you all for coming."

Cheers burst, and then Aphrael sallied on. "It's been awhile since I've turned eight. So, I'd like to celebrate with an eight hundred-layer triple fudgy devil's food cake!"

The immense cake was wheeled in. The guests appropriately oohed and awed. It was an amazing thing, an eight-times-a-hundred-layer cake covered in white icing and dotted with every conceivable kind of junk food. Just looking at it would make a dentist rub his hands in anticipation. Aphrael raised a legendary, wicked, glorious, familiar-looking sword.

"Hey," exclaimed Arthur, feeling around his now-empty belt. "Dammit!"

Aphrael lifted the Sword of Britain, and cleaved the cake in one mighty blow.

"Dun, dun, dun," Destiny intoned, unnoticed at the edge of the table, quietly perusing his Book.

At the pink table, the boys nervously jumped when Aphrael "cut" her first slice. Talen in particular put his head in his arms and started babbling incoherently. A few seconds after the mighty sword-stroke, however, a strange sound was heard beyond the garden, just beyond the pink hill. The sentry had turned his head, fool that he was, and saw, and **D**readed.

At the pink table, a blond elf clothed in green stiffened in dread. "That is no orc horn."

The fool on the hill, with the eyes in his head, saw the world spinning round.

The Sues swarmed down over him.

"Bugger," muttered an English scar-faced boy, also at the pink table.

"We're bantha poodoo," agreed a pale Anakin.

"What's going on?" cried Berit, alarmed. The swarm of people invading Aphrael's party seemed to be comprised of mostly adolescent females, although the odd gangly boy was spotted here and there in the throng. They wore strange clothing in an eyesore of colors. By and large, they had long, shining hair and perfect features.

A couple of the gods at Aphrael's table had stood up to meet the girls, all with vacant expressions on their faces. Other deities watched in perplexity and outright lust. Aside from the mortals at the pink table, the only people who seemed to recognize the threats for what they were, were Polgara, Ehlana and the Leigh goddesses. (And the Elene God, of course, but he pretended love-struck-dumbness for the sheer fun of it.)

"What are they?" prodded Bevier, as the other young men at the table didn't answer. How strange the gods couldn't see the women's ominous auras.

Another young man who looked eerily like the blond elf spoke. "They are creatures from other worlds, with only one thing on their foul minds."

"World domination?" asked Geran.

"World destruction?" questioned Berit.

Eriond suddenly perked up. "Pretty, sparkling candy?"

"No," the Captain of the Flying Dutchman said grimly. "_US."_

He groaned. "Elizabeth is going to _kill _me."

"OH-EM-GEE!" a strikingly pretty girl with an eye-patch over a perfectly working eye suddenly screamed. "Harry Potter!"

"EEEE! My Leggie!" another dazzling wonder in (terrycloth) robes shouted.

"They spotted us," Gher was frightened.

"We stand and fight," declared Bevier, readying his beloved lochaber.

The ten pretty boys young men stood and prepared for battle.

The Sues swarmed over the hill. They met the gods rushing to greet them with shouts of "Father!" "Sister," "Great-Aunt-Twice-Removed-On-My-Mother's-Side!" and one "My Monkey's Uncle!"

Then, the unattended young or young-looking males were quickly placed in a drooling thrall. Goddesses were by and large being shunted to the side or absorbed into the throng, and the majority of the girlish horde was headed towards the pink table.

"They're in trouble," Sparhawk remarked, unaffected, Ehlana's nails digging bloody grooves into his arm. "Shouldn't you do something?"

Aphrael smiled grimly. "Don't think I haven't planned for this, Father. They're just waiting for the password."

Legolas shot twenty arrows in twenty seconds. Harry fired a couple of _Adava Kedavras_. Will summoned his ghost crew. Anakin attempted a couple of Force chokeholds, and the Eddings boys tried working their newfound powers. Nothing helped.

Eventually they were cordoned off from the rest of the party guests, facing a deep, dark abyss that the multi-colored bunnies no doubt borrowed. A loud chant rose up from among the girls, suspiciously sounding like "KISS ME, KISS ME…"

There were a couple of the females however that were bound and gagged near the selfsame chasm, but no one really paid attention to them.

"Their heads grow back!" yelled Anakin, after a lightsaber-seared neck began healing. He shouted at the horde. "I have a wife! _And Great Grand-kids!_ Leave me the Force alone!"

"And I thought Zandramas was bad!" Geran cried, eyes wild.

Berit agreed. "This is madness!"

All of a sudden, there came a huge roar.

_"THIS IS SPAAAAARTAAAAAA!"_

Three hundred nearly naked Grecian men burst out of the chasm. Immune to girlish charms, they started slaughtering the princesses, priestesses, Goths, virgins, angels, vampires and other what-have-yous. Blood sprayed in a fine mist, and the pure testosterone wielding their blades—cough, phallic symbol, cough—prevented hacked-off limbs from growing back.

It was _glorious_.

Amidst the carnage the boys freed the bound girls.

"Dammit!" one girl burst out after her gag was removed. "That's the third time this happened this month!"

"And all because we're named Mary," moaned another.

"Or Sue—"

"Or Morganna Arwen Leia dela Fey," one bitterly rued, then added when they all stared at her, "My parents. Literature majors."

"Ah," they as one chorused.

"Not to be a spoiler of sports," one Elene god strolled up. "But we're getting far afield here. Do you ladies want to go home?"

_"PLEASE!"_

Dan waved his hand, and all the girls were wearing red sneakers. "You know what to do."

The girls started chanting. "There's no place like home, there's no place like home…"

And they were gone.

"Well," Aphrael said, "good job."

The Spartans were almost finished clearing the dead bodies off the grounds. Legolas was marveling when the Faramis look-alike reported to the King Leonidas—

"Chocolate!" Eriond said happily.

—that at least six of the so-called women escaped. The King shrugged, and ordered his troops to fall out after accepting the 300 eat-all-you-can meal tickets in Hell's Kitchen.

"That was exciting," Althalus said as they all sat back down.

Belgarath considered remarking how similar the young women seemed to _certain_ other females, but caught Polgara's steely gaze and wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Finally," trilled Ehlana. "My daughter can have her cake, and eat it too!"

They sang the "happy birthday" song in a great many languages.

"Well?" asked Sparhawk. "Dig in."

Aphrael lifted a forkful of cake to her mouth, and swallowed.

The party guests watched with bated breath.

"Mm. Chocolate."

And nothing happened.

Nada. Zilch. Wala. Nil.

Not a crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, a roll of drums. Not even a repeated "dun, dun, dun" from Destiny. Or an ominous rustle of wind.

What. The. _Hell._

* * *

**Elsewhere (Somewhere in the Middle of Nowhere in Everywhere)…**

A goddess sneezed.

"I could have sworn someone called me," Hel wondered aloud, blowing on the _evil_ (merely one-ply) tissue.

"Rotten luck, your name," Papa Ge said, passing her an ivory block.

Hades said nothing, concentrating on winning the Afterlife Mahjong Wednesdays.

"Yes. I know," Hel nodded, then deftly changed the subject. "Has anyone seen those twittering idiots?"

"They be gone," a reaper applied in a Jamaican accent. "I heard them planning to storm the party."

"Ah," Hel nodded, then shouted "Mahjong!" as she displayed her winning lineup with glee.

Grim groaned. "I knew we shouda' played chess again."

* * *

**At the party, thirty minutes ago…**

On the outskirts of Aphrael's domain, a chartreuse SUV pulled up, and four garishly dressed individuals tumbled out.

"Alright, gang," nodded Torak. "This is it. Our revenge."

"Buwahahahaha!" they said together.

They tiptoed towards Aphrael's back entrance.

A white rancor, a white komodo dragon, and a white pterodactyl were guarding the diamond gates. At the gods' approach, the creatures looked up.

"Ah, poopy," Daeva whispered.

"Not to worry, boys," Torak checked his gold (pink-plated) fob watch. "We're right on schedule."

As they looked down the hill, the beasts started climbing towards them. They were coming closer…closer…almost there…

Torak smashed an amulet.

And lo, they came.

Thundering from the far plains, from every corner of Everywhere, was the click-clack of stilettoed feet. It worked—they had successfully summoned the unholy horde. The evil gods looked upon what they wrought and cackled once more.

As the prepubescent host swarmed over Aphrael's rear guard, Zandramas's words came back to the Dragon God.

_"Are you sure? This is a dangerous power you unleash, my Lord." There was a hint of hesitancy in her voice, of maybe even Plot Foreshadowing™, and so naturally the Foul Four were oblivious._

_"Yes, of course," Daeva scoffed. "We need the distraction to get in."_

_"But, my Lord—"_

_"WE ARE IN CHARGE!" hissed Azash. "Not you, you fool mortal!"_

_Zandramas flounced off, muttering about how it was well and good the Y chromosome was growing smaller and smaller each generation._

"Let's go," muttered Cyrgon, still disgruntled from his stint as a French barmaid.

They made it past the square, the library, and Aphrael's torture chamber undetected. Of course, they didn't _have _to go through all those rooms—for crying out loud, the main dining area was _just over the hill_—but as gods go, they weren't terribly bright.

Which, in retrospect, was a good thing.

And so they circled around. By the time they reached the party grounds, all were gleefully picturing, with what little imagination they had, of the carnage their "hired guns" would wreak. As they rounded the corner, they feasted their eyes upon what they wrought.

_Quelle_ shock.

Instead of evilly sweet maidens spreading their perfection every which way, they saw a pile of formerly strikingly beautiful girls being shoved into an endless black pit. In lieu of love-addled divinities, they saw mostly-bemused gods shuffling back to their seats.

Torak, with a great deal of interest, noted a pink table. Or rather, its occupants. But his proclivities—more power to him!—would have to be discussed some other time.

"Oh man! We're toast!" whined Daeva.

Cyrgon cuffed him sharply on the head. "Shut up, you fool! Those were meant to be distractions."

"Such pretty distractions, though," leered Azash.

Torak ignored the Bobbitized geezer. There was still one card to play.

"Please, you suck at Go-Fish," muttered Daeva, and Torak promptly stopped thinking aloud.

They watched from a cover of poison ivy—a regrettable fact they would discover later—as the guests settled into order once more. They hummed along tunelessly as they sang happy birthday to Aphrael. In several languages.

Finally, the moment.

The Foul Four saw the moist, rich, loaded-with-carbs cake touch the girl's lips, and danced a little in celebration, the vines trailing all over their skin.

And then…

And then…

Nothing happened.

Nada. Zilch. Wala. Nil.

Not a crack of thunder, a flash of lightning, a roll of drums. Not even a repeated "dun, dun, dun" from Destiny. Or an ominous rustle of wind.

"_What the hell_?" cried Torak, jumping out from the poison ivy.

The gods turned as one to see the former dragon god in his full glory.

"Ah, my virgin eyes!" muttered Athena, Dana, and five other maiden goddesses.

"Brother!" seven gods and one Eriond giggled at Torak. Torak goggled.

"When did _you_ become a guy?" he shouted at Mara. The Marag god widened his eyes.

"_What_?" His pecs bunched, and the deep baritone abruptly turned into a squeaky falsetto.

"Crap, he knows," Belar muttered under his breath. He glared at Torak. "Thanks a lot, idiot. Now he's going to be in therapy for _aeons_."

While the goddess-formerly-known-as-a-god was rediscovering her sexuality, not to be outdone, the other gods revealed themselves.

"I rule!" Cyrgon leaped out and started posing.

"Azash here! Watch out, laaaadies," Azash attempted a roguish wink. Key word: attempted.

Daeva slunk out of the bush, hands firmly jammed in pockets, and slouched as he stood next to Cyrgon.

"Um, yeah, hi," he grumbled. "Congrats on the brat. I think."

Dweia, beaming, accepted the congratulations.

Things were getting pretty far afield, much to the annoyance of the other partygoers. Some were eyeing the cake with longing. Vishnu, in particular, was getting hungry. A hand crept towards the eight hundred-tiered cake. Closer…closer…

Everyone's attention was suddenly captured by the blue god's shrill scream.

Aphrael calmly lifted a bloodstained Sword From The Freaking Stone and pointed it at the uninvited guests.

"You four. What are you doing here?" she demanded.

They as one pouted.

"You didn't invite us!" they whined.

"Well, duh. You're _evil_."

"Look who's talking, you b—"

"_Evil_," Aphrael resolutely reiterated, a saccharine smile firmly fixed on her face.

Teehee! Alliteration!

Torak puffed up just like a magic dragon. "Well, you will pay for the insult!"

They cackled maniacally.

The guests waited with their eyebrows raised.

"Fools! You dare to insult us four! Aphrael, the women you have vanquished serve as mere fodder for the army. There are many, many more where they come from!" cried Cyrgon.

"They were distractions—mere decoys," sneered Daeva. "Because of my brilliance, we have infiltrated your domain and ensnared you in a magic spell so magickal you can't magique yourself out of it!"

Azash belched.

Torak pointed one French-tipped nail at Aphrael. "Behold, _**THE ETERNAL SLEEP!**_"

He snapped his fingers. Pulled a giant red button from out of Nowhere and pressed it. Did a couple of signals.

Nothing.

"Why isn't it _working_?" he whined.

Unbeknownst to everyone, _something_ was happening at the pink table.

Well, maybe not to everyone.

"Um…what the bloody…urgh," said Harry, very English indeed.

"I have a bad feeling about this," muttered Anakin, looking at the Eddings boys.

Gher was turning slightly pale, the ten-year-old boy looking as if about to vomit. Geran appeared peaky, too, and sweat was dotting his forehead. Bevier, Berit and Talen were starting to sway gently, their hair rising up as though they were underwater.

It was Eriond, however, who caught everyone's attention. At Torak's fifth attempt—a whispered "_Kazam!_"—the current Dragon God stiffened in his chair and adopted an uncharacteristically serious mien. His face tuned red, and he tilted his head up not a moment too soon. Flames started pouring out of his mouth, eerily shaped like fireworks and hearts.

When he finished, Eriond dunked his face in an ice cream bowl. The other boys soon followed.

Blink. Blink.

"Eriond!" the brothers yelled.

"Son!" cried Garion.

"Hot knights!" screeched a couple of goddesses, while a worried Dweia waddled over to Gher's side.

"TALEN!" shrieked Aphrael. She marched up to Torak and grabbed him by the designer lapels. "_What did you do_?"

"Nothing! I swear! _**THE ETERNAL SLEEP**_ is only supposed to happen to you!" Torak gibbered, frightened by the sheer menace emanating from the Child-Goddess. "Cyrgon put the elixir in the cake! Blame him, blame him!"

"Don't look at me. I did what was ordered!"

"_I had nothing to do with this_!"

"You _liar_, Azash!"

In a somewhat anticlimactic end to the gatecrasher's plot, Aphrael and several pissed-off women—even _Ehlana_ got one kick in—beat up the four gods and sent them packing. The mostly-bemused male guests watched as the four clutched their spanked bottoms and rushed off to the EGGSA! Tower to lick their wounds. Of course, it was too much to hope for an escape with no parting shots.

"You have not heard the last of us!"

"We'll get you, Aphrael, and your little whale too!"

Crying, the four fled. Aphrael and her guests then turned to the pink table.

The six were still out cold. The witches sorceresses young ladies neared their respective charges and started poking.

"I've never seen this kind of magic before," frowned Polgara.

Sephrenia nudged Berit with her toe. "It's similar to Ehlana's enchanted sleep—"

(Ehlana giggled. She _knew_ what kind of dreams she had at that time, after all…)

"—but there's something…more…the spell will be something harder to break."

Dweia, cleaning up Gher's sticky face, said, "If only there was some way we could find out what had happened to them."

Dan nudged Deiwos, who nudged Zeus, who nudged Jupiter, who nudged Bathala, who nudged Yahweh, who nudged all seven brothers (minus Eriond), who nudged a random Sims player, and so on and so forth until all the creator gods had shoulders that were black and blue from nudging.

Still no answer.

GREETINGS, HUMANOID ONES.

A giant apple, all shiny and steel-like, suddenly appeared. WHY HAVE YOU SUMMONED ME?

They all turned to Deiwos, who had discreetly pressed a "ctrl+h" on his idiot box. He shrugged, and pointed to the comatose boys. "Them."

Ah. The apple seemed to pause. It ran a few calculations—_ohdeargoditusedSPSS_—and after a couple of cross tabulations and frequency maps, it came up with a solution.

IT APPEARS THESE SIX HAVE BEEN AFFLICTED WITH THE **F**AIRY **T**ALE POTION BREWED BY THE DISNEY CORPORATION—

("Damn you, multi-national companies!" sniffed Belgarath, and the gods looked askance at him, for religion is the opium of the masses and all that, but his ranting was cut off by the giant apple's droning…)

—AND THAT THE RECIPIENT OF SUCH A POTION WOULD HAVE TO SLEEP UNTIL AWAKENED BY TRU LUV'S KISS©.

"True love?" perked up Aphrael. "What about True love?"

Deiwos typed in "define:true love."

TRUE LOVE: THE FORM OF ROMANTIC AFFECTION THAT IS CONSIDERED PURE AND WHOLLY POSITIVE; THE UNIQUE INDIVIDUAL FOR WHOM ONE FEELS SUCH AFFECTION. HOWEVER, IT IS NOT "TRUE LOVE" THE SPELL REQUIRES, BUT TRU LUV.

TRU LUV. THE ABERRATION. THE ABOMINATION. THE MISSPELLED WORDS. TRU LUV, AS INSCRIBED IN THE POTION, IS A CATALYST IN THE FORM OF A PERSON WHO MAY APEAR TO FREE THEM FROM THE **F**AIRY **T**ALE AND PRODUCE A **H**APPILY **E**VER **A**FTER, BUT IN ACTUALITY FURTHER THE ENCHANTMENT UNTIL THE POWER OF THE RECIPIENT IS FULLY DEPLETED.

"Harsh," muttered Belgarath. "Is there any way we can fix this?"

Deiwos typed in "solution" + "fairy tale potion." A number of forums popped up on the search list, and the answers read accordingly:

_You're censoredword! screwed, LOLZ._

_The answer is 42._

_I HAZ CHEEZBURGER._

On page 69, they finally struck gold.

_The only way to counter_ TL_ is to fight fire with fire. Whatever inane story the woman (or pregnant manwhore, or alien hermaphrodite) has in store can easily be thwarted in a few crucial plot points. Best of luck countering them. Love, D.E._

"That's great, really," Belgarath griped. "But it doesn't solve the fact they're sleeping beauties."

A YM message bleeped, and Deiwos accordingly clicked on the user icon. _Well, you idiot, you forgot one thing_.

"Oh?" Belgarath said irritably.

_Aphrael still hasn't made her birthday wish yet_.

They as one looked at the child goddess. She blushed.

"Oh." And Aphrael closed her eyes, and started mouthing words. Soon, she and the five boys began to radiate a sparkly, bluish light.

"You know, this really is too convenient," Althalus muttered to his Elene counterpart.

Sparhawk smirked at him.

"Well, neighbor," he drawled, "God is Machine."

* * *

No one knew exactly what Aphrael had wished; no one, that is, except for Destiny, who snickered quietly into his Book while the other Beings puttered around the ensorcelled males. The blue light surrounding them quickly grew, and everyone had to shield their eyes (well, except for the blind or eyeless-to-begin-with gods, but there were only a handful of those). When the light vanished, all had cautiously opened their eyes to find a beatific Aphrael in her adult glory, and six sullen multi-hued rodents in her arms.

Ehlana blinked at her grown-up daughter. The rabbits tried to squirm out of Aphrael's grasp. One even had a switchblade, although it immediately changed into a purple daisy.

"Honey lamb," the Queen of the Elenes said slowly, "what _are_ you doing?"

"I made my wish," the crown princess of the Elenes replied. She dropped the armful of wriggling rabbits on the pink table, and each went to an ice-creamed young man. The guests watched with widened eyes as they positioned themselves and raised their furry hind legs.

Interesting fact 1: plot bunny urine is one of the most magical things in the world, third to ambrosia and unicorn poop.

Interesting fact 2: it tastes faintly of chocolate syrup, and is a perfect accompaniment to vanilla ice cream.

Gher, as the least magical, was the first to wake up. "Ew! Furball!"

"Gher!" exclaimed Emmy, and quickly smothered him with a motherly hug. Meanwhile, the thing inside Emmy's belly started kicking at the boy.

After a few minutes, Geran awoke, gibbering about zombies. His father and _great_-grandfather and _great_-aunt and various divine uncles started fussing about him. Geran took it all in stride, and noted to himself that as soon as this was over, he'd take a _looong_ vacation from his family.

It took another hour for Talen to awake, who, upon seeing grown-up Aphrael, promptly fainted again.

"You said you'd give him a few more years, dear," reminded Sparhawk, as he moved Talen away from the ice cream.

Aphrael eyed the bunny who converted the purple daisy back into a switchblade. She sulked and reverted back to her child form. "Yeah. I'm gonna."

Soon after, Bevier and Berit broke free of _**THE ETERNAL SLEEP**_, with faint dreams of glass slippers and warts slipping from their minds, and upon their waking found their God looking at them worriedly.

"Are you all right, my sons?" Dan asked, the picture of a divine (but distant) creator.

Bevier's left eye ticked. The plot bunnies near them _cackled_.

Still, there was one more who had yet to wake.

They all looked at the comatose young god, whose head was by now lying in a fairly large puddle. The rabbit responsible for the puddle looked fairly disgruntled.

"Um, you can stop now," said Belar.

The bunny shook its tiny liddle head and continued its business.

While _that_ was going on, the rest of the rodents were presenting Aphrael with a huge, leather-bound book similar to the Book Destiny was toting around. Except, this book had a large **D** embossed on the cover. Aphrael flipped it open to the table of contents.

"Oh," was all she said. Her eyes darted further down the page to a letter T, and a disturbing leer graced her face as her stare darted between the book and a fainted Talen. "_Oh_."

Sparhawk valiantly ignored his daughter's lewd grin—_how can an _eight-year-old_ look like that, anyway?_—and motioned to the Dragon God still out cold. "Daughter dear, what do we do with him? His family's getting a little…worried."

Understatement of the century. Chaldan was beating his chest and belting out emo poetry by the verse, Nedra was finalizing the will, and UL was eyeing Geran in case he needed a…replacement….son.

"Don't even think about it," Polgara hissed, and UL turned away from his universe's scary lady.

"Don't worry, father," Aphrael said. She turned to Eriond's relatives. He's going to be okay. Just stick him in a tall, ivory manor surrounded with thorns and he'll be fine. He'll wake up…eventually."

Blink.

"Oh, I know just the place!" Polgara chirped, just as Garion muttered, "Sendars always do."

Blink. Blink.

"Kay, he'll be all right," shrugged Belar. He raised a kegger of rootbeer. "NOW LET'S PARTYYY!!!"

And with that, the party resumed.

Never mind that the eggs the bunnies hatched (despite the fact that they're supposed to be mammals with live birth and all) had yet to bear its fruit on the hapless five males. Never mind the EGGSA! were still alive (albeit covered, at the moment, with poison ivy) and eagerly plotting their counterstrike. Never mind that the horde unleashed could have unbearable, grammatically, aesthetically, and realistically speaking, repercussions on the gathered throng.

The party was a smash. Good triumphed over evil again (somewhat), love would eventually conquer all (poor Talen), and three new gods were born (who only Dan knew about). Aphrael's birthday was considered the toast of the millennium…that is, until Dweia's baby shower.

But that, as others are fond of saying, is a tale for another time.

-FIN-

Destiny closed his Book and snickered.

-AT LEAST, TILL THE SEQUELS. MAYBE. WHATEVER.-

**

* * *

Footnotes (Warning: a lot**. Haha.)

**Elvis **may be "the god of Rock," but **Freddy Mercury** is love.

Oh, if only **Charlie and the Chocolate Factory** had liquid nitrogen lime slushies. By the way, I'm pretty sure Johnny Depp's in that party, somewhere.

**Vulcan** is the Roman Hephaestus. He's crippled. Or, to be more P.C., physically challenged. Hey, they call him lame _all_ the time in mythology.

**Sesshoumarou** is a dog demon from the anime series Inuyasha, the protagonist's older brother who occasionally tries to kill him. He's a hot Lord of the Western Lands with one arm with a dislike for humans. Mm.

Man, I hated that **pink table joke**.

Long live the **once and future king**. Hehe. I love King Arthur, don't you?

**Destiny**, yet another one of Neil Gaiman's Endless.

**Beatles** yet again.

Lo siento, **Legolas, Harry, and random other objects of over-affection**. If Bevier has to suffer, you guys too.

Yes, I dragged **Pirates of the Caribbean **into it too. Poor, beleaguered characters of Orlando Bloom. And Johnny.

I apologize to Frank** Miller,** for co-opting **300**. And Baum, as well. for **the Wizard of Oz.**

**Leonidas** is a chocolate brand. It makes me laugh inappropriately when discussing Greek history. That, and the words Nike, Trojans, hermaphrodite...

**Marie Antoinette. **Very misquoted.

The "sly demon of death," **Papa Ge**, is some sort of island's god of death. What I know of him is only from _Once on This Island_.

**Mahjong** is a Chinese game similar to Gin Rummy, only, with blocks instead of cards.

**Grim**, from "the Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy," makes an appearance here. Spot it.

So do **rancors**_**.**_Far too many Star Wars references, you say? NEVAR!!1

**Bobbit**. Never, ever get your wife that angry.

**Vishnu**, Indian god, blue-skinned, four-armed, yet-another-chief-god. To be honest, I don't really have anything against him (Zeus, though, that one's a bastard), but I figured _more_ mythological references won't hurt. I'm doing my part for EDJUKASHUN! GO ME!

Look for **that quote**. It's in every one of the freaking movies. That, and the number 1138. Lucas's Hidden Mickeys, if you will.

I effing hate **SPSS**. Seriously. Which is what I'm supposed to be using rather than finishing this story.

Eep. **Marxism**. My activist friends will kill me if they read this.

I was strongly tempted to put an **Apple V. Microsoft **joke here. Be glad I didn't.

Noooo. Instead, you get a **deus ex machina**. Haha!

There's a **Sluggy Freelance** reference there, if you can catch it. Hint: beware of mini-lops.

Remember Polgara's **rose** **manor**? Hehe.

**

* * *

Replies (To those of you with no FF accounts):**

Vld—Alf? (Oh dear lord! A pop culture reference I've missed!) I think she's planning to install some of her "pets" in the Elene courtyard. You'd have to talk to Sparhawk on that one.

Squiek, Hanna—thanks! Last chapter, as requested.

Mike—Hope that cleaned up a few things (Obviously, not the plot bunnies, but then again, they're hopping off to the as-of-yet unwritten sequels). And, because I've completely missed out on the whole "mother of the weeping race" thing, I dedicate Mara's gaffe to **you**. Haha!


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